


Royal Assassin

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Original Work, The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 60,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry for the late update. I have been ill.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fangirl2013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl2013/gifts).



_**Prologue.** _

_**York, North Yorkshire.  
Early 1478.** _

 

 _Dearest Brother._  
  
_I am afraid businesses will bring me henceforth to York in the coming weeks. I am displeased to have heard of the unrest within this region, whilst my hopes reside in your capable and swift resolution to the problem,  the Lord Chamberlain and Lady Duchess of York do think it right I should visit the ancient city you do favour. A ghastly place as full of plague and illness as London, with people who like me little. No matter, for I heard trade is good with Italian merchants preferring the northern winter air._  
  
_I shall send word before my journey._  
  
_Edwardus Rex._

  
  
The neatly form letters lay smudging on wet, frozen ground whilst inches away thick blood crystallized on the ice it slowly thawed. Blue velvet turning purple as it spoiled. No one spoke as they crowded round, men nudging one another and glancing with curious faces whilst covering their wives eyes from the horrors that lay before them. Feet shuffled from side to side as the crowd fought to stay warm, unable to move enough to tear themselves away from the terrible sight.

“Move aside! I said move aside!” The voice shouted loudly at those curious unfortunates towards the back of the slowly dispersing crowd. Men jumped from the way as panicked horse hooves parted them, quickly they pulled their wives and children too as the white gelding forced its way. The rider jumped from the saddle with confidence moments after bringing the beast to a halt. “Sir Francis, have these people return to their houses.” The man spoke with a hushed voice as he huddled by the horse of one of his accompanying riders before he stepped away, removing fine leather gloves with delicate hands that were more befitting of a woman.  
  
“Go on! You heard my lord! All of you, go home. It will be curfew soon.” The younger man addressed the crowd with a voice filled with authority.

Francis Lovell joined his master as he looked at the mess upon the uneven cobbles. The man was gently nudging the body with a tentative leather boot. Lovell's own foot turned the body onto it's back to reveal the face of a young man barely beyond boyhood. Both men cringed. “These clothes are familiar.” Lovell spoke in a whisper.  
  
“The uniform the King's couriers.” Richard spoke with dissatisfaction. His eyes squinting as he investigated the man's body.  
  
“You know him?”  
  
Richard shook his head, his eyes falling upon the letter. Kneeling he used the glove to lift the blood stained parchment. “Jesu, this is a bloody mess. When treason is happening on our doorstep.” Richard rose to his full height, placing the parchment in the saddlebag of his distressed gelding, a hand stroking the beasts neck. “Shh Pegasus, calm boy.” He wiped the glove on the animals saddle rug. Placing his hand on the animal's mane, he looked back to the body and shuddered. Placing one foot in the stirrup, his eyes never leaving the corpse as he swung into the saddle. “Francis, have this mess cleaned up.”  
  
He didn't watch to see his friend and servant nod, nudging Pegasus with his heel he pulled the reins tight. What a story this would be, what a mess. Men would be digging for gossip and it would be the morning before men were in taverns selling details.  
  
All the while Richard himself had to prepare for a royal visitor.  
  
What a bloody mess.

 

  



	2. Chapter 2

_**Micklegate Bar, York**_  

          **C** old, panting, bent at the waist and most importantly late, my arrival was less than appreciated and more than acknowledged. The old man behind the desk scratched his beard as he shook his head with disgust on his face, resuming his chores dipping his quill into the ink well in the noisiest manner I had heard. As I stepped forward I caught my reflection in the window. I couldn't help but wonder if my less than acceptable appearance was behind the sneers and disapproving glares. I brushed my black hoes with my hands as I stepped forward, as though that would actually make a difference. Stood before the desk the man did not look up, instead he continued to scribble on his parchment with an ignorance that was rude. I coughed, forcing the man to look up with cheeks reddening from anger not embarrassment. “Yes?”  
  
         “I have a meeting with His Lord, Sir Francis Lovell.” That got more sneers and scoffs, men looked to one another before the man behind the table laughed.  
  
         “An' ya' think you'll be meeting with his lordship like that?” He shook his head once again, leaning back in his chair. “I shou' let ya lad. We are ever in nee' of entertainment. To see your 'ead on these walls.” He chuckled as other men began to laugh. “Was' your name?”  
  
         “Laurent Beaufort.” My voice went from its bold voice to a whisper toward the end. My surname had never been one of which I have been proud. My hope that these men would not have heard the last part was shattered as the man's face changed. He rose quickly, the chair falling behind him as he stood with such aggression.  
  
        “I shou' wring his scrawny neck!” One of the men in the shadows jumped forward, stopped by the old man behind who had been behind the desk.  
  
         “Whoa lad! Whoa! Do you wan' be the one hung for treason?” The younger man gave me a look of contempt before he reluctantly retreated back into the shadows. The older man smiled at me, retaking his seat. “Forgive Thomas, just your name is not one of popularity.”  
  
         He did not have to tell me that, I had grown up in times of turmoil, a name could mean everything. Anything from your fortune to your undoing, regardless of your actions, your trade or indeed your birth right. I said nothing in reply, instead pulled my cloak about my shoulders and looked off into the shadows, trying to spot Thomas, my new unknown enemy.  
  
          It was not so strange for someone like me to get enemies on first meeting. The young man's contempt for me was something that phased me little if I had not been so ill at ease. In truth I had been reluctant to show myself at the Bar. I was still unaware of why I had been called here and more to the point, why someone of such high standing as Francis Lovell, friend to His Grace the Duke of Gloucester, and by association one of King Edward's closest subjects, had called me into his presence.  
  
         Either way I followed the old man as he stood and ordered me to follow. I asked no questions as we walked through the stone chamber, up the creaking wooden stairs and into the above armoury – when weapons lined the walls, armour of every grade for fine to common was hung at different heights, dependent upon its owners rank. The smell of fresh rushes filled this room, and beeswax candles already burnt. A good indication that Lovell was already here. This was not a good start, my untimely manner would not go unnoticed after all.  
  
        As we reached the final staircase the old man stopped. “You to go up alone, tey' don' wan' me hawking.”  
  
        “Hawking?” I had been moved to York from London when I had been just six when King Edward had taken power, but still the course ways of northern tongues slipped my understanding. The man did not elaborate, instead he shook his head in obvious disdain and left me to climb the rickety wooden stairs alone.  
  
        The room above did not meet my expectations – even though I had no idea what to expect. It was cold and dark, with the only light coming from the singular lead bound windows. The floor was unlined by all but a thin layer of dust. My attention was drawn to either side, where the small cylinder rooms were shut off by heavy doors. “You're late.” The voice made me jump and fold into a deep bow. The accent a southern one, unlike the harsh tones of the men downstairs.  
  
        “My apologies my lord, I endeavoured to be punctual, but the ice slowed my journey.” I thought I saw the man nod, although I could not be sure. I said nothing as I saw a second figure move, rising only as this second man placed a hand on my back and muttered an almost silent 'rise up'.  
  
        “The ice slows everyone, I was rather expecting you would be late.” The first figure leaned back in what seemed to be a grand chair, far grander than I had expected to see in this sort of room, although it was hard to tell for being angled in the window light, casting shadow over man and chair.  
  
        “Do you know why we called you here?” The second man's voice, which I now heard properly, was lighter and sounded less like that of a nobleman. I shook my head, a severe breech of etiquette I soon corrected.  
  
        “No my lord.”  
  
        “A pity.” The second man sounded frightfully disappointed as he began to walk away, returning to his master who sat lazily in his chair.  
  
        “Francis, give man a chance.” I gulped, if the second man had been Francis Lovell, my throat went dry as I found the sudden realisation of who the first man could be. I fell to my knees, doffing my wool cap and lowering my head in respectful obedience. “Rise up you fool, too many a man does that when he realises he is in the my presence.”  
  
        I rose slowly on wobbling knees. To be in the presence of Sir Francis Lovell was to most, intimidating enough, to be in that of a royal Duke, the Kings brother no less was a situation for which many would die - for which many had died. I myself had been in the presence of Duke's before. My father, a man with whom I had little contact from my birth, was a Duke himself. Executed for treason in 1464 after choosing to follow the wrong side. That was a mistake I had sworn I would not make, a mistake I now feared I had. “Your Grace I-”  
  
      I closed my mouth as he held up a fine but fragile hand. “Do you know why I chose this location Beaufort.”  
  
      I was speechless, amazed he knew my name, amazed Sir Francis had given so much information, for after all the summons had come from Lovell's office, not that of the Duke of Gloucester. But then I thought, it was not so obscene that the Duke had ordered the letter, having heard of my presence in York. After all, too many people knew of my family, of my existence, despite my father’s attempts to silence my mother, and my upbringing by the Monks as I was labelled an orphan. No amount of seclusion had hidden the truth from the world.  
  
       “No Your Grace.”  
  
       “On these very walls my brother and father had their heads displayed in the dark days of 1461.” He rose finally, walking to the window so I could see his frame encased within the fine blue velvet. I tried not to react, not to step back and gasp as so many a man would have done should they pass a common man within similarly striking features. The rumours of his figure, the slanted shoulder deforming his otherwise pristine appearance. He chuckled despite himself, as though he could read my mind. “You do well, better than most to not acknowledge my figure. I have heard the jests made by my brother of Clarence, and your respect for me is noted. Where was I?” He looked to Sir Francis.  
  
     “The Bar Your Grace.”  
  
     “Oh yes, thank you Francis.” He turned back to me, silhouetted once more by the window. “A man you will well know was responsible for that. The Duke of Somerset.” He came back into the room, approaching me with a slow pace, one foot placed eloquently in front of the other, his walk more like a dance than a casual approach. He stopped, eyes looking to the cylinder rooms, eyes flashing with anger. “The rumours have it that my brother was taken here before he died, held in one of these rooms until Somerset chose to dispatch him. Of course, that is fabrication, designed to scare children from playing on the walls. Somerset had naught to do with my brothers murder, but the Beaufourts have never been forgiven. As you will well know.”  
  
     I gulped, looked away from his otherwise encapsulating presence. My hands shook, trembling as he fell silent. I understood now, understood so very well. He had brought me here of all places, had insisted on meeting in a military base, a prison rather than in comfort at Middleham or Sheriff Hutton for he wanted to pressure me. He had insisted on the gloomy atmosphere to represent a place of mourning, a place where bad memories were so ripe for him, where I would feel out of place, uncomfortable, where I would agree to anything.

     “Of course, this place holds no more memories for me than any other, I was but eight years old when it happened, it is my brother Edward who would feel right sorely if he stumbled upon this meeting.” There was something sinister about his otherwise warming smile as he stepped closer, putting a single arm around me. An arm of surprising muscle weight, a soldiers arm which told the story of a warrior. I gulped once more. “Don't be nervous, I have not brought you here to tell you of a terrible fate which you will receive. After your uncle's defeat at Tewkesbury, I doubt my brother wishes more blood to be spilled. Justice is served, the debt paid. No, I do not wish to harm you. Rather I require your assistance.”  
  
    “My assistance?” I stuttered, surprised that I should be the one he called upon. I had been surprised that he had interest in me at all, I felt fear now he had a specific purpose. No matter how he tried to convince me that I was safe, away from danger. He had selected me for his service, one could not help but feel suspicious, especially at such a time.  
  
    “You will surely have heard of the murder which happened in York not two days ago?”  
  
    “Of course your grace, a tragedy.”  
  
     “Quite, and rather awkward as you can imagine, given the boys position.” He paused as I looked to him. “He was one of my brothers couriers, and thus a royal servant. His death represents treason. And so whoever killed him should be punished duly.”  
  
    “Of course Your Grace.” I knew where this was going before he continued.  
  
     “The problem is, we have no idea who did it, much less where they are or of their intentions.” Stress suddenly tugged on his voice, sending it hoarse for a moment. He coughed into the silk handkerchief he retrieved from his belt bag, wiping his forehead with the other hand before adjusting his cap. “To make it worse, King Edward comes north soon. The boy was found with my brothers letter in his possession, which means the King is soon to know of the act if he does not already. Lord knows sour news travels quickly to London. His Grace will want answers, and he will be less than happy if I do not have them.”  
  
     “Indeed he will probably have the heads of all those involved should this not be resolved speedily, and before he arrives.”  
  
      “Thank you Francis.” Irritation hung to every word. “Please Mr de'Beaufou, do not think I would have you associated with this, but you were raised by Monks. You have an air of the holy orders to you, and a name which holds some authority, even now. People will trust you, and those who do not will obey you. I would do it, but that would never be allowed, for it is far too close to being a threat to my own life, and Francis is less than popular. I wanted a man with no connections to me, and a man who by all means will get answers.”  
  
     Sir Francis scoffed as he walked across the room, glaring at me from beside the window with a look reminiscent of the men downstairs. Had I not known better, had my thoughts not been those of a rational man, a man seeking not only survival but success, I could have thought that Sir Francis himself had set up the cold meeting downstairs. That he had poisoned those men against me with words explaining who I was.  
  
     As a man valuing confession, a boy brought up to know that confession is good for the soul, I must then admit that I was plagued by the sin of anger. No one dared question Sir Francis's loyalty to not only the Duke of Gloucester but to the House of York and King Edward. As he stood there and questioned mine, I could not help but dwell on our similarities. In his eyes I was already condemned for my parent’s loyalties to Lancaster, and on that front he and I were not dissimilar.

    “Are you still in Holy Orders? Do you consider taking a vow with a monastery, or becoming a priest of the church? “Gloucester's voice cut into my thoughts.  
  
    “No Your Grace, I am married and so cannot join any such order.”  
  
    “A pity, though a fruitful marriage is God's will. Tis' best you do not mention that.” He returned to his chair sitting in it once again. “Now, I am tired and thirsty, I will dine soon. I want this cleared up hastily, and the man hung before the weeks end. You will be rewarded for your time with gold befitting of your lineage. With your success I may be able to persuade my brother to grant you the Duchy of Somerset, as owned by Henry Beaufort.”  
  
   “And should he fail?” Sir Francis added, a tone of satisfaction, even expectation poisoning the words he spoke.  
  
   “Shall we not talk of such Francis, one hanging will be enough for the City of York, we do not need two.” He dismissed me with a wave of his delicate hands as he swung his legs over the arms of his grand chair. I did not know who he spoke of, who he had threatened with the death penalty, all I knew is I was not about to hang around to find out.  


	3. Chapter 3

By the time I left the bar the day was warming, in the distance the Minster bells rang 12. With hands shaking and legs weak, I walked as the slowly melting snow compressed with a satisfactory crunch. My journey down Micklegate was slow, hindered by the masses of people blocking the streets as often they do at noon. Boys running their errands, men returning home for their wives midday comfort and girls returning from the market carrying their mothers groceries.  
  
I approached the Ouse Bridge, my mind wandering as I planned my journey to Coppergate, then to Stonegate, where the murder had happened. I almost cursed as a young girl brushed my arm, knocked into me by a man too hurried to get to his home. "Ya whoreson!" The woman shouted back at the man, giving me a foul glare I shrugged off. My mind was too occupied to care as it usually would. The Dukes words had come back to mind, what would he do if I failed? What would he, the Lord Constable of England do if by the end of the week I did not have the man in custody?  
  
There wasn't time for that, by the time I reached Coppergate the crowd had built up, blocking my path as they remained motionless. "Excuse me" I muttered as I nudged my way past, one person and then another, receiving sideways glances of disapproval. It wasn't until I reached the front of the crowd that I stopped, seeing the sight before me. A woman sat on the floor, crying in hysterics as she pointed to the bridges stone ledge. Men muttered to themselves, looking to their neighbours.  
  
"Insane old crow." One man muttered in my hearing.  
  
"Witch, she's a witch demented by beelzabobs curse."  
  
"Mad shrew."  
  
The crowd began to tut and walk away as the woman began shrieking and wailing before she grabbed the gown of a passing woman. "Evil he was, evil I tell you, the devil was in his eyes. Satan himself."  
  
The woman broke away, running as once she was free of the elderly ladies grip. The crowd dispersed with muttered curses. I approached the woman, offering hands to help her to her feet. "Be careful madam." She began to cry, wiping her eyes on her sleeves until I handed her my handkerchief. "Here you go, here you go." The woman said nothing more, wiping her eyes as she pointed to the bridge with a shaking hands.  
  
Sighing, I could hardly believe myself as I approached the bridges edge, looking over the stone side. My stomach tensed as I saw it, the rope chained into the side of the wall, from which hung a woman in red velvet. "Madam, did you see who did this." I spun back to look at her with hard eyes, only to stare at air. "You there!" The young boy looked at me, eyes full of fear. "Fetch the Sheriff, a woman has been killed."  
  
  
                      ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
The woman was the wife of the royal courier, he had been a resident in York for several years, working for King Edward as herald, riding from York to London with messages between the Duke of Gloucester and his thoroughly regal brother. His rather generous income and his prestigious title had been his death warrant. They said working for the crown was a privilege, how I was beginning to doubt that.  
  
There was no time for my worries. I hurried through the city with the speed of a mad man, all the while my mind occupied. If this was to be a pattern and the people of royal service, with ties to King Edward himself were to be in danger, what of myself? My family? We're we not now in royal service through my new found connections with the Duke of Gloucester?  
  
Then there was the more chilling thought, what of Gloucester himself? Had he not said that he would investigate it himself, if he had not thought it so wrought with danger?  
  
My blood ran like ice. Was I to warm the duke of the second death? Was I to tell him anything, or was it premature? Would it be perceived as wasting his time with matters of irrelevance, he could be safe, so far from danger as in any other time. Surely it was too soon to alarm him simply for the death of one woman. Then I remembered the Sheriff, surely he would inform the duke, surely that responsibility had been taken from me when men of higher standing had been present?  
  
Regardless I continued my journey toward Stonegate, passing men with faces of stone. With each step I took the more severe their faces got. Soon I knew why. Despite the street sweepers of York being hard at work, with the cobbles being scrubbed with all kinds of brushes, a thin stain of blood remained dying the cobbles a dirty crimson. For all the beatings the Monks had dealt us in the orphanage, I was not one accustomed to the sight of blood and my stomach lurched.   
  
After a moments dizziness, in which the world seemed to spin whilst my feet somehow remained firmly planted on the ground, I began to walk again. I knew nothing of what I was looking for, nothing of what I was expecting to find. It was hardly likely the killer would be obvious, and wholly visible at the scene where the assumed first crime had taken place. I stood for a moment as I reached the end of Stonegate, looking toward the Minster as it stood, York's most imposing feature, second only to the walls which guarded the city. The bells struck one, an hour since I had left the Duke's presence and I had nothing. Soon it would be getting dark, soon men and women would turn from the streets to seek the sheltered salvations of their homes or the taverns, and the streets would not be safe from those who had no homes to go to, and no coinage with which they could frequent the minor pleasures of the taverns.

My thoughts were disrupted as a I almost fell, knocked by the force of someone barging passed. About to swear once more when I recognised the creature who had hurried by, the teary eyed woman looked back, still clutching the handkerchief I had handed her. “Wait!” The woman turned, beginning to run toward the minster as I followed. She bolted through the open doors and up the tiled isle, gaining looks from the already present clergy.   
  
“I seek sanctuary!” The woman screamed, looking back at me. “This man, he is following me and wishes to hand me to the devil!”  
  
“That is preposterous! I am a servant to his grace the Duke of Gloucester.   
  
“On what business sir?” The Bishop spoke as robed monks hurried the woman into a pew, sitting her down. The Bishop approached me, lowering his voice as he began to speak. I knelt in his presence, crossing myself as he offered a reluctant blessing. My childhood years had taught me as much, and now it was not so much my faith but habit. I rose as the Bishop stepped back, looking at me with careful eyes. For a moment I believed I could be staring into he cold eyes of a Neville. George Neville, cousin to both the King and the Duke of Gloucester and the brother of the late Earl of Warwick, had been Archbishop of York until his recent incarceration in the Tower of London following the defeat of his brothers at Barnet. I knew it was impossible, but this man's eyes chilled me as only Bishop Neville's had.

I had met Bishop Neville in my adolescence. A boy of but fifteen, he had visited the monastery to ensure the monks were doing their duty to both the Catholic church and to their King. The experience had been a rather chilling encounter, although I was beginning to recognise this was perhaps the case for all Bishops. They were after all most often of fine breeding, and this man seemed as cold as Sir Francis had back at the Bar/. He seemed also to have taken a similar dislike to me.

“So what does his Grace the Duke of Gloucester want with you?”  
  
“I am helping with the murder which happened on Stonegate two days gone.”   
  
“A tragedy.” His holiness crossed himself as though to protect himself from the wrath of evil, as though it would serve some purpose in keeping the Cathedral safe. He looked to me then, as though forgetting that a crime had ever been committed. “And are you any closer to solving the mystery?” I shook my head, looking to the woman as the Monks spoke with her, trying to calm her nerves. How much I wanted to talk to her, the only current lead I had. The only person who had offered any insight, however remote, into the murderer and who they, or as she had said, he, might be. “A pity.”  
  
“I was only charged with the task an hour ago.”   
  
“Then I shall expect to hear of good results soon Master?” He looked to me with a questioning look.   
  
“Beaufort.”  
  
“Of course.” The man said it with a wry smile, removing his hand away from my touching distance, as though I carried a disease. “You are the Duke of Somerset's bastard son, the one the scandal was around.” He looked to me as though he expected me to be filled with embarrassment, as though he expected me to apologise for my parentage. As though somehow the mistakes of those who preceded me were somehow of consequence to me.   
  
“I will not apologise for what is not my fault your holiness.” I bowed out of habit more than respect as I approached the woman now finally alone. “Madam, I believe we need to talk.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Mad Mary was her name, or so she had told me after several hours of confession. That had been how I had loosened her tongue. Whispering in the presence of a disapproving and typically nosey clergy, I had told her of my upbringing, of my roots within the monastery and without questioning my current standing, she had assumed I was still a brother in holy orders. That I was still sworn to the vows of the church and the sanctity of confession. Thus she had begun telling me about what she had seen, how she had come to be on the bridge and what had scared her so much.

After deciphering a half incomprehensible utterance or two, I had learnt that her journey had ended on the bridge that morning. That the woman was indeed worthy of her nickname and that if the men and women of York did not think her so harmless (and more importantly insane), she would have, should have been accused of witchcraft long ago. As a man of peace, I was glad she had not. For I approved little of the sanctions which the church had in place for the treatment of witches. To be burned at the stake was a hideous demise. I knew for I had seen it. It was according the monks who brought me up, a worthy education for a young man. Particularly if he should wish to live life free of sin.

Her use had however been quickly spent and my time thoroughly wasted. By the time I left the minster the bells would soon strike seven. Curfew would begin at eight on these dark winter days. And I had got nowhere, should the Duke request a meeting in the morrow he would be tragically disappointed. Enough for him to remove my head mayhap? I shuddered at the thought. As I was on foot I began my trudge through the city to the gates at Monks Bar where I would leave the city for.my home.

I am not a poor man, even for a bastard as they call me, my father was expected to provide for me. Though not the inheritance normally befitting a Duke's son, I was thankful for all I had. Many men would leave their bastards with nothing. Not I, for I had inherited Hollycreek Hall upon his execution at Hexham. One of the only houses of his not dissolved in King Edward's Bill of Attainder against him. Although a relatively popular man, King Edward is no fool. No matter how big his army, he would not risk the anger of a man needlessly. I had committed no crime, and as his illegitimate son, I was exempt from my father's punishment.

The large house of grey stone, with large glass windows (some of them stained) and thick doors, was always a welcome sight. The smell of fresh hay in the stables, the wood smoke from the fire, and the sound of horses pants and whinnies always comforted me. I was yet to hear the sound of children playing, the fruitful marriage which the Duke had spoken of was but a dream to me. No matter, I was a lucky man in other ways. I had married for love, a rarity even among the disgraced such as I. The church and my keepers cared enough to advise me along the right path, to prevent me being reckless in my marriage. Anna was by all means the perfect wife, a comely woman with fare hair and green eyes. She never missed my arrival.

As that evening, whilst I stood and stroked the horses' necks. The honey coloured mare was out latest addition; a costly Arabian. I had helped to breed her, whilst she still cost a king's ransom, I was proud to own her. That was why every evening I checked on them, five horses and all priceless. Although I lived in the relative safety of the out of town life, thieves still ran rampant, so every day I counted them, to ensure none were gone, and everyday Anna would greet me. Today was no exception. "Husband, they are all still there. I counted them not an hour ago." She stepped closer so I smelled her perfume, she made it herself, fresh lavender and rose water rubbed into salty skin. The sweetest scent I knew. "Of which my husband, you are later than normal, the Minster bells struck seven half an hour since, where have you been? I thought perhaps that Yorkist duke, the bast-"

"We are no longer to call him that." My tone was sharp, harsher than I had ever intended. It stopped her sentence dead and I said nothing more for a minute, looking to my wife briefly before I patted the Arabians neck and turned away, walking speedily toward the hall. The conversation we were to have was not one which was to commence outdoors. If the Duke of Gloucester's fearsome reputation was ought to go off, then I would have hardly been surprised had he commissioned men to listen to my every breath, to record my every word and use it against me when I was to fail in his mission. As Sir Francis so believed I would.

Anna said nothing, whilst looking confused she followed me obediently, doing what her father had taught her she must. Listen to my every word and follow my every order - and practise which irked my very being. Anna was no fool, she was not the daughter of a pauper, she was educated and could speak Greek, French and Latin. She knew the bible by rote and was never rid of the works of the greats such as Galen, Aristotle and Plato. Despite their words being condemned almost completely by the church, particularly for women who had no need of any such education. She was free and able to have a mind of her own, with an allowance and her independence to do so. Her feigned obedience was an insult to me, an insult to her liberty. 

The hall was warm when we entered, the smell of fresh rushes and cleaned linens filled my nostrils. Wood smoke aired the banquet hall. I slumped myself on a bench indicating my wife should do the same. She did, with far more dignity than I could muster with such exhaustion plaguing me. She sat opposite me, looking at me with curious but warning eyes. She was not happy with my end to the conversation outside. It was a misdemeanour she would be unlikely to forgive, let alone forget. "We are not to talk of the York's as our enemies, we are to embrace them now, to respect them. Particularly my lord of Gloucester."

"What have they done to you husband." At first he voice was gentle, nurturing and caring. Filled with concern. Concern which soon gave way to raging anger. Her eyes blazed as she continued. "By God do you forget what they did to your father? They had him killed-"

"It was John Neville, the King's cousin who died at Barnet who had my father killed. Besides my lord the Duke of Somerset was hardly a loving father, did he not ensure I was so far from his care as possible?" I snapped in retaliation. I did not hate Somerset, but my respect for him had fallen long ago when I had learnt I was not the orphaned child I was said to be. When I had learnt he had abandoned me. Anne knew better than to use him against me, should have known better than to use him, a traitor to the Yorkist cause, against the House of York. He was but one man when so many had died in this bloody war. Why should he, a founding father of this civil strife be regarded as different to the common man, for he was not, he was much the same. Flesh and blood when it comes to battle, mortal when it comes to the blade. 

"Whilst he provided this roof over our head, more than Gloucester has! More than York ever will! You are forgetting where our true loyalties should lie husband." She scoffed at me, visibly rolling her eyes. A habit I hated. 

"Anna, we have no true loyalties. We are not of such a standing where we can afford loyalties. We are loyal to who is in power, from whom we must benefit and those whom can have us killed." She scoffed again, forcing me to roll my eyes. "Anna think sensibly before you have yourself hung for treason. Besides his grace is truly a hard man to refuse."

"Refuse? What has he demanded of you? Has he bribed you dear sweet husband, tis' not the man I know who would have said yes to conspiring with the House of York and my Lord of Gloucester." Her voice was rich with the bitterness of hatred.

I grabbed bread from the basket our only maid, the only serving staff we could afford had brought to us, biting into it eagerly, chewing in a manner which made my wife frown. I frowned myself, the bread was turning stale. That was something Anna would have to instruct the girl to avoid. Anne was one to believe that fast eating caused upsets of the stomach, I was never victim to such inflictions. "His grace has asked me to find he who is responsible for the murder which happened in York. The Kings courier. That looks frightfully bad for York, and his grace, for king Edward will soon come North."

"And that will be a joy we are expected to endure. when will they get the message that York will not welcome the bastard king?" She shook her head, rising and walking towards the fire, warming her hands by it before she looked back to me, wiping her palms on the cotton skirts of her dress. "Besides you are being presumptuous husband." She held up her hand, it often was the way that my wife (and I do believe most women, the Kings own wife and the accused witch Queen Elizabeth) would as a public face be obedient. I truly believed that in her heart she believed she was what the church demanded of her. But in the privacy of these walls, she was the one who led the charge. I was silent as I looked at her through curious eyes, nervous eyes. "You said he, as though you know already that it is he who killed the poor man."

"A woman cannot commit murder, she has neither the strength nor the power."

"I never took you for a fool husband."

"A fool?"

"That whore they call queen."

"You must not call her that." I kept my voice calm, remembering my past paranoia of the Duke's men. I would give them nothing to hang us with, by all sounds and appearances we would be loyal to the House of York.

"Why, are you not servant now to the Duke of Gloucester? From what I hear of him and the King's other brother and the mouse, Anne Neville the Duchess of Gloucester, the king makers daughter they would be glad to hear you call her that. The Queen is not much liked by those other than the king himself. The pea brained fool wanted her for her looks, her infamous beauty, I doubt he even likes her, was blinded from his sense by his lust. He is damned if he does. To Richard, Duke of Gloucester she is a witch and-"

"And The Queen, and no matter what his Grace's thoughts you are not his Grace and you are not the Duchess. If King Edward heard your words he would have you hung and I doubt Gloucester would be in the mind to speak for the common born wife of a Lancastrian bastard." She scoffed again, visibly angry. I didn't let her stew as I usually might, I stood and approached her, grabbing her hand as she tried to grasp the fabric of my sleeve. "Gloucester will not risk the Kings anger for you wife, you do not have the protection of the church."

I said nothing more as I walked from the room, slamming the door of my bed chamber not five minutes later. I stripped the boots of my aching feet and laid upon the bed, sleeping in moments without changing from my day clothes.


	5. Chapter 5

The earth was still frozen as I left the next morning, the cold ice air waking my senses. Alerting me to the possibilities and awakening the paranoia. Every man who passed me had a hooded cloak, a shadowed face and all seemed to wear the banner of the Duke of Gloucester. Each watched me with a strange curiosity and my skin shivered, my hairs rose and suddenly I was aware of the very possibility that the Duke himself could be anywhere at any time. He carried his brother's reputation, he was a silent hunter, he travelled in the dark and attacked with lethal force. What if I had displeased him? What if he was watching? What if he had heard Anna's words and would launch a raid on the manner when I was away?

I shrugged off the thought; it was impossible. Gloucester would have no interest in the life of a commoner's wife. 

I hurried my horse, a pure gelding with a shining black coat. Titan was my treasured mount, loyal, reliable. But today my nerves were affecting him, he jittered and paused. His steps tentative on the icy tracks. I moved my focus from fellow riders, and it was not until I rode into York that a recognised a face - or a voice. "Beaufort.” Sir Francis rode beside me, his boot brushing my mount as he closed the gap between us; lowering his voice so we could talk without alerting the locals to his presence. It was then I looked at him, because of his secretive demeanour. I noticed his riding cloak, blue and hooded, the type that shadows the face. Upon his left breast was embroidered a whyte boar. The sign of the Duke of Gloucester. Had Sir Francis not approached from the same direction as myself? His smile suggested that indeed he had.  
  
"Sir Francis, good morrow to you."  
  
For a moment he simply nodded, and I thought he would say nothing more until the horse arrived at my other side. The rider smiled, knocking the cloaks' hood from his face. His features were gentle, far more comforting than the scowl set permanently to Sir Francis's face whenever I was around. "Laurent, may I call you that?" I nodded, momentarily forgetting my station. I was about add a discreet _yes my lord._ Lovell held up his leather coated hand, shaking his head. "Forget the formalities as it seems you already have. Meet Sir Robert Brackenbry."

"Sir Robert." I extended a hand, surprised by the broad man's gentle shake. This was a man who was respectful, even of a man of lower birth. 

"Brackenbry has returned from his latest trip to London, he has not given the King news of the incident here. We see no need to tell King Edward, as you are surely progressing with the mystery and are close to catching the man responsible?"

"I am progressing my lord." I lied, tightening my grip on the reins. Titan responded, pausing in his tracks as I veered left down Castlegate. Sir Francis and Sir Robert followed determinedly. I masked my sigh. 

"Do you yet have a name, you will understand of course that my master is keen to have this cleared up with haste? That is why he took the time to tell you his expectations in person. For it was a King's messenger who lost his life, thus an act of treason. We cannot take the risk that his Grace our King should be harmed on his trip north. For which Sir Robert does inform me his preparing."  
  
"I do not have a name-" I was about to continue when Sir Francis sighed, a tut noise escaping his lips.  
  
"How regretfully disappointing. I shall have to tell his Grace the Duke of your... failure. No matter, he is forgiving and rewarding. He invites you and your lady wife to dine with him this eve. I advise you accept Monseigneur." With those words he mock bowed, pulling the reins of his mount guiding it back down the road we had progressed. Sir Robert dipped his cap to me and followed. Finally I breathed a sigh of relief, spurring Titan down the cobbled path. His trot took me soon to Clifford's Tower, the imposing building at the top of a mount where York's Sheriff currently resided. I assumed he would be working as tirelessly as I to uncover the name of the man who had committed these crimes. All my master could hope was that the Sheriff would not pass the name back to King Edward.

I dismounted, tying the reins to a post before stroking Titan's nose. "This is where I leave you my friend. Do not eat too much of the grass. I will be back at noon with some bread." I tapped his shoulder turning away as he huffed, his hoof tapping the ground, in objection or agreement who knew?

I turned my mind to the task at hand, forgetting Sir Francis's offer. I would find who was responsible for this before the King's journey north. I just needed to find another place to start. I needed to find something, some one. I needed information which wasn't going to take me to a dead end.  


	6. Chapter 6

With my plans so uncertain, this task being so very out of my depth, I had returned to the scene of the crime. Seeing the roads now scrubbed clean so not even an off-pink stain could be seen on the icy cobbles. The King’s visit was imminent, or so the nobility surrounding York seemed to believe. King Edward was probably already aware of the absence of his courier, no matter if he knew the circumstances of the man’s disappearance. Duke Richard would not want his brother to see traces of the murder. York would have to look it’s best, for its Duke had no love for the city. Not after the events caused by the old Queen Marguerite. He would never forgive York for allowing such an undignified display of his relations desiccated bodies, ever since 1461, York and King Edward had maintained a fragile relationship.

Since my return had been fruitless, I had sought out the Sheriff. We sat in a dimly lit room in Clifford’s Tower. The stronghold atop the mound of grass sat centrally to York, an imposing structure from which few men, not in royal service, ever emerged. Its reputation stood, speaking for itself in volumes. It was The Tower of the north. Used little since King Edward’s reign had begun. It was little surprise as Gloucester controlled the north, King Edward had little desire to visit the north, though much to control it. Particularly after Warwick’s downfall. Neville popularity in the north had been a series of rises and falls, but even they were favoured to York rule.

Sir Edmund Hastings was a stoic man, well-built but of small stature. His brown hair was thinning, receding over the scalp, and his once obviously vibrant eyes were greying around the edges. Old age would soon set upon him, and all the men and women of York knew that his time as High Sheriff of Yorkshire was running short. However much power his relations in London held. The man drank wine, smiling at me as he sat opposite me, looking over his vast wooden desk at me. “So you’re Gloucester’s man?”    
  
“Indeed Sir.” I didn’t sound nervous, although this life was new to me, and the etiquette of power was one which took adaptation, my meetings with men of more power than Sir Edmund had given me the courage I needed to face this man. However amused he looked at the fact that I, an apparent no one, had been assigned to the role of chief investigator, alongside he, a man of status.

“I question of course why Gloucester chose you, what merit stands by your name?” I saw his scrutinising eyes, ones which suggested he did not like me, that he did not like my rise in my status. Of course, I had not expected this would be easy. Nor these men to accept my ‘meddling’. Gloucester would not have spent the time to explain to the citizens of York why I had the privilege of serving him. I knew that duty had fallen to Sir Francis Lovell, a man who neither liked me nor supported my involvement in this investigation. With Gloucester concerned with the pending royal visit, Sir Francis had the chance to turn every man against me, taking the credit for himself if he so wished. I did not expect that Sir Edmund Hastings would take my side over a man with influence. A man who had his lips close to the ear of the King’s brother, and thus King Edward himself.

“I am the son of the late Duke of Somerset.”

“A Beaufort?”   
  
“By association, I am the illegitimate son...” I said, without the normal shame in my voice.

“Of course, that would explain it. So you are here to discuss with me the death of young Master Croft?” He reached for vellum, rolled into a scroll. He unfastened the ribbon, separating the wax seal as he spread the document on the desk, only then looking up at me. “Yes, we know the boy’s name. He was but sixteen and to say the least, His Grace King Edward is less than pleased. He heard of the boy’s death and has mercifully delayed his trip north to allow time for this issue to be resolved. Whilst ideal for you, this could be devastating for Richard of Gloucester, certainly not desirable. I am sure you are then aware that my Lord of Gloucester is now eager to have this matter resolved with haste, putting more pressure on us. More specifically, on you. Have you got any further on the motive of the man? I assume you do not yet know his identity and that is why you are here? Unless I underestimate you? Do you have the scoundrels name ready for my warrant?”    
  
“Regretfully not.” I leaned forward in the chair, glancing the neat writing on the scroll before him. He smiled, a disappointed but expecting smile.

“Pity, though hardly surprising. This is a letter from the King himself, God bless his soul. Gloucester had his men bring it to me this morn, it makes even my bones quiver. Gloucester is fearing his brothers dissatisfaction and King Edward insists this is quickly resolved. He wished to reach York before the weather worsens. He has a duty to the boy’s family, a family which has been in the service of the House of York for many years, since the King’s youth. The family deserve answers, and the King requires reassurance that his life is not endangered before he reaches York. He can only delay his progress not prevent it, and he has tasked Gloucester with ensuring that the man responsible for this is brought to charge for murder and treason..” He pushed the parchment towards me. “You can read it if you please, I assume you can read?” I nodded, saying nothing as I scanned the words, reading their conviction.

The letter included an undertone, one which even for my inexperienced perspective threatened the Duke’s favour. All knew that Richard of Gloucester was a particular favourite of the king. Being his youngest brother, King Edward had always seen his side over that of any other man. He had taken Gloucester’s side over even that of the Queen Elizabeth. However this elegant script threatened disaster for my new master, should I fail. As consequence, it suggested disaster for me also. Gloucester would fall from favour, his disgrace would lead to the forfeit of his title as Lord Constable of England - a title won from his Neville cousin Lord Warwick. I would pay a higher price for my failures; my life.

My hands shook as I pushed the letter back to Sir Edmund, seeing that smile again which by now was beginning to irk me. I gulped, using my life’s training to regain control of my hands and then my voice as I rested my palms upon my knees. “I am as eager as his grace to solve this, what can you tell me of what happened? The smallest detail would help.”     
  
“Given the circumstances, and the status of young Master Croft, I had reports drawn up by my staff. You may see them, keep them safe.” Sheriff Hastings rang the bell which sat upon his desk. We paused, sat in silence for a minute or two as we heard the hurrying feet on the stones outside the room. The door opened, a young boy entered. “Master Reynolds, fetch the bag containing the reports for the murder of Master Croft.”     
  
“Master Croft Sir Edmund?” The boys voice shook, he sounded intimidated. Looked fear stricken as his eyes met me. I smiled, trying to reassure his nervous presence. I could not stand to see such a young man looking so fearful.

“The King’s courier boy! Pay attention!” Sir Edmund hissed the words, his eyes narrow slits as he looked to the boy. I gripped my knee subconsciously, fighting my desire to chastise the man for his treatment of the boy. I could not say anything, for it was not my place. How he treated his staff was his decision. I had never found that intimidation got the best results. Regardless, the boy bobbed a bow and left quickly.

“Who identified the young man, Master Croft?”     
  
“The King himself. News travels fast, especially that which is supposedly secret. You can guarantee that if we do not want the King to hear it, it will take but hours for news to get to London. In this case, we had three days. But when Master Croft did not return to London, it seems King Edward knew something was wrong. Upon hearing of the death he wrote to Duke Richard, informing him of the boy’s name.” We fell silent again as the boy, returned from his errand, knocked upon the door before he entered. He held out the bag, handing it to me when Sir Edmund indicated. “Thank you lad.” I sighed as the boy looked positively petrified as I spoke. Without a further word he left, hurrying back towards wherever it was he came.

“Those reports I hope are detailed enough, you should spend some time reading them when you can. And pay close attention. Although I do not know what you will find which I have not. I have read them several times. You should know, my men are at your disposal. Sir Francis has asked me to launch my own enquiries, I think I need not tell you that he distrusts you.”

No, he did not. He was not telling me something which I did not already know.

“Before I take my leave, the letter Master Croft carried?”     
  
“We must assume that someone wanted to stop Duke Richard hearing of his brothers journey north, yet they did not want to prevent the trip altogether.” He took a deep gulp of wine, slamming the pewter mug down upon the table harder than assured my nerves. “Your job is to determine who would want to do that, and ultimately who may want tout the King's life in danger."

“Thank you.” I said, rising to my feet, heading toward the door.

“Before you go monsieur, a word of advice. Accept the offer from his Grace to dine with him and the Lady Anne this evening. It may work to your benefit.”

I nodded, hoisting the leather bag onto my shoulder as I left, heading speedily for the exit from Clifford’s Tower before I found the same fate as so many a man who had entered the stronghold. I hurried away from Tower Street, down Castlegate, resting only as I reached Coppergate. It was there that, as I was pausing for breath, the world went dark as my arms were grabbed from behind and I felt myself fall backwards.

I never hit the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

I looked around the room. I lay in a four poster bed with curtains made of red velvet, lined with golden silk. Despite the grogginess, the shadows which set on every corner, my first reaction had been to look for the leather messenger bag which was nowhere in sight. I cursed myself inwardly, knowing Gloucester would have my head for this. He would not be forgiving that I had lost the reports which had been written up to help to prevent treason in his own territory. I blinked twice, looking around the room once more. It was large, wood panelled walls, carpet on the floor. It was gran and a fire was burning. This was not the house of an ordinary man who had taken me in when they had found me among the confusion. No, this was the property of someone with money and obvious status, someone who was more friend than foe. So I had to gather from the conditions in which they were housing me.   I moved freely, under no restraint. That was when I heard the footsteps. Two men dressed in the livery of a man I did not recognise approached. I recognised instantly that they were not the men of the Duke of Gloucester, whoever had sent these men to get me had not been sent by Richard, or Sir Francis Lovell. The badges were of a man I did not recognise, their clothes were finely made and suggested the wealth and prestige of their master. Whoever had kitted them had gone to a lot of effort to make sure they would not be touched by external forces, and these men knew how to carry themselves with authority.

I panicked momentarily as they sat beside bed, removing their caps. “Monsieur de’Beaufou.” The man had a southern accent, strong and obvious although his words were clear. He was well spoken and used only fine English, something else I reckoned his master had insisted upon. “We are here to help with your investigations. We saw you among the commoners of York and you looked exhausted, we caught you before you could collapse and brought you here. We feel his grace Gloucester would be unhappy and less than understanding if you should lose your belongings amongst the men and women of York.” The second manhandled me the satchel, which I quickly opened, checking the documents were still there. Several parchments sat undisturbed in the pocket. I closed it quickly, tying the strings to seal it closed.   “Then I thank you, but I must be going.”

“Very well sir, but then you will not get the information we have. Information which could be of use to you.” The man stepped back, letting me out of the bed undisturbed. I stopped, sitting on the mattress as I looked at the men with a judgmental eye.

“What information?”

“We know a man who saw everything, can take you to him.”   “Why should I trust you? I don't know who you are or who has sent you here. You haven’t identified yourself.”

“I am John, he is Paul.” I nodded in recognition of both of them, getting to my feet, taking several nervous steps around the chamber.

“Who is this man then?”

“A local, and a man of reputation.”

“Of what form of reputation. What is his name?”

“That sir is not something we can share, we are not authorised.” One man looked to the other, and both looked nervous.

The man who had until now been silent decided it was his turn to speak. Albeit with a nervous stammer. “We are instructed to give only one message, and not to mention anything which is outside of this message. We are to offer to take you to the man and nowhere else, if you refuse this assistance we are to leave you to your ways and trouble you no more. We do not wish to hinder you or harm you sir, only to help you if you will accept it.”

I sighed, I would be taking a gamble. These men seemed serious, honest to their word. This was a time when no one could be trusted. Especially amongst the higher folk. I had heard tales of how they would betray one another for a sniff of victory, of power. Although these men may have good intentions, how was I to know that the man they would take me to was the same? What if he was their master? The man who was responsible for organising such treason?

It was a risk I supposed I had to take.

“Take me to him.” I nodded, watching as the men smiled and rose to their feet, leading the way toward the door and through a house I found to be more expansive than I had originally estimated. Whoever had put them in such lodgings was of a far higher status than a mere noble. Were these the kings men themselves? Here ahead of their master to send word when the situation was properly dealt with?    
  
But then surely they would be wearing the rose et soleil? We all knew the symbol of our King. We had all seen his banner, and those few who had not had heard of it. A symbol of hope to all those men who saw it.   

I followed the men through the streets then, toward Bootham Bar. We turned suddenly then, into a cluster of town houses I had never seen and then the men stopped, looked around and satisfied none were watching, they knocked on the door. Moment later an elderly woman was peering out from the opened door, recognising the men she stepped back, ganging over me with suspicion. “Mistress Katherine, this is Laurent Beaufort he is here to discuss the observations of Master John.” The men spoke quietly, so there was no way of being overheard.

I stood, waiting silently, taking in my surroundings. I did not know who these people were, but I had noted their words carefully. They had not mentioned the Duke of Gloucester, had not mentioned that I was his man. Whoever these men were, I was inclined to think they did not want Gloucester knowing, did not think him a friend or an ally. Whoever these men were, whoever their master, they were playing a dangerous game.  
  
The Duke of Gloucester would not be happy.

I looked up as the woman came back from the into which she had nipped. She looked to us. “Master John will see you now, come in.” She held the door open allowing us into the room. It was small and very dimly lit, whoever this man was, he could afford a maid but could not afford the candles to light a small room? I raised an eyebrow which I thought that in this light no one would see, however it seemed that Master John had exceptional vision.

He made me jump when he spoke. He was a local man, with exceptional speech. However much he tried to mask it, it was clear that his local dialect was alien to him. He had learnt it by forced habit. “Am no blind man sirrah. Sit.” He pointed to three old looking chairs. Whoever this an was, he had been confident that whatever information he had was information I would want to hear.

I was glad I came suddenly as I sat down. “So let’s be hasty about this, what did you see?” I noticed as the man leaned forward that the title ‘master’ he used was inaccurate. He was no boy, not even a young man, rather middle aged, around 45 years of age. His body was muscular, but fading, his once obviously handsome features were now damaged by scars and old wounds. I said nothing on his appearance.

“Why the hurry? Do you not trust me Beaufort? I know stories about you and yours which would make your stomach churn. Before you ask, yes I have an interest in the incidents of the last week.” He pressed his hands together and fixed his eyes on me. For the first time since I arrived I now realised why he had the candles lit so dimly, he did not want to be recognised. “Do not ask why, just say I have a personal investment.”

“I am not here to ask you why you have an interest sir, or even to know that you do have one. I am wanting to know what you saw, can you identify the man who was responsible?”

“Who said it was a man?” Anne’s words came back to hit me, like a knife in the stomach. The possibility that whoever killed Master Croft could be a woman, why would a woman commit such a foul crime?

“Was it a woman?”

“There were two people, one man and one woman. She wore a gown of blue wool and he dressed in King’s livery. When Master Croft rode past he stopped, seeing the man he approached. They planned well, knew he was coming. I recognised instantly he wasn’t one of E- King Edward’s couriers. The livery was good, but it was not real. He was not the type of man His Grace would employ-”  

“How would you know who His Grace would employ?” One of the men who had escorted me here interrupted.

“I said that was a personal matter, one I would not speak of. I have not broken the law in any way which concerns you so I suggest you do not pry. It may shock you.” John continued, looking to me. “She was the one who delivered the fatal blow. She was the one who killed him. They were in it together though.”

“Did you know who they were? You saw them in detail I would assume, did you recognise them?”  

“No, but I heard them speak and they were not from these parts. Southrons, both of them.”

“They came up from London?” The two men looked at each other as they asked. John simply nodded.

“Where were you? How did you get close enough without being seen?”  

“I have a talent for being undetected. I was going for a walk. It is something i rarely do.”

“Is there anything else?” I said, standing as I looked to the window, eager to leave this place.

“One more thing, I heard their names.”  

“They were?”   

“Jack and Ursula. I believe he was under the employment of someone who is very close to the King. Very close indeed.”

“Who?”

 “Do you know of Sir Thomas Grey?” John’s mouth twisted into a small smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Of course I had heard of Sir Thomas Grey. He was no other than Queen Elizabeth’s son. Stepson to King Edward and man who was not to be reckoned with. Although young, he had already made a name for himself as far north as Newcastle. He was reputed for being so unlike his uncle, Anthony Woodville, Lord Scales and protector to the Prince of Wales at Ludlow, and much more like his stepfather the king. Sir Thomas Grey, if I knew anything about him was famed for his whoring and his ready hand in a battle.

No matter what one had to think of Sir Thomas Grey, it was hard to think of him as the man behind this scandal. Why would the kings stepson try to end the life of the King of England, the man who had raised his mother from the shame of being a common traitor, a lonely widow. However much my brain settled on the idea, it was hard to believe that he would want to, much less would be able to put an end to King Edward.

One consideration was that Sir Thomas would be acting on behalf of his mother the Queen. Lord knew she would gain from her husband’s death. With King Edward dead, she would no longer be Queen Consort, but rather the mother of the Queen, holding for protectorship and the power of England.

However plausible that theory may have been, it still seemed illogical. Why would she go to the efforts of killing young Master Croft in York when she could simply split poison in her husband’s wine, or put a pillow over his head when he slept. It did not make sense. Master John however had been certain of what he had seen; whoever he was, whoever he had been, however he knew about these people and how he could associate them so easily with Sir Thomas Grey, I could not dismiss my one and only lead.

I had spent the day thinking of this, with the afternoon spent searching through archives at the Minster. Desperate to find records of Jack and Ursula, who they might be and why they had an interest in killing a kings courier when it would come to such a cost to them. By the time I had spent my time searching the parish records and then the taverns for signs of Jack and Ursula, the sun was dimming and soon the streets would become unsafe.

As I returned to Titan, patting his neck as he nibbled at the frozen grass his huff made me feel the pang go guilt. I had failed to return to him this noon, although it had not been my fault, his eyes spoke to me of betrayal. He would neither know nor care for my days adventures, he would be troubled by a hungry stomach. I looked into my bag, pulling the remnants of a bread cake from the leather pouch holding it out in my hand for Titan’s inspection. Two sniffs and he had taken the crumbs from my hand with a swish of the tails and a snort.

“Snort to you too.” I moved down his side whilst he returned to the grass. Adjusting his saddle I stroked his shoulder, lifting my boot into the stirrup before I pulled myself onto his back, taking hold of his reins and pulling up his head. He turned away from his grazing as the boy freed his ropes.

It was time to decide, I mused as my hips rose and fell in rhythm with Titan’s steps, would I accept or decline Gloucester’s offer? Of course, I would not be able to take Anna. She would not accept the civility of the House of York, not even from the Duke of Gloucester who was among the greatest Lords of the north. He had excelled the progress of the late Earl of Warwick. Anna’s loyalty remained with the Percy’s - or so it had before they had sided with King Edward.

Titan slowed on the path, sniffing the air. Whatever he smelled stiffened his body. I pulled lightly on the rein, trying to edge him forward with little success. Sighing at my mounts reluctance I pulled sharp with my left arm, slightly surprised as he obeyed, trampling the flowers of the woods beneath his weight. I pulled his reins taught, whispering a muttered whoa as I heard the familiar sounds of riders.

My hands were tensing and relaxing in their own unconscious spasms as I sat watching the old road as darkness began to engulf it. My mind was on edge from today’s excitements. My abductors had reminded me how fragile I was, and the endangered position in which I had found myself. Duke Richard, for the fortunes he offered me, had made me a very wanted man in a city which already had its share of thieves and brigands. On dark winter nights such as tonight, no one was safe. Sat upon Titan’s back in the consuming dark, unarmed and exposed, I felt less than safe.

I ducked down as I watched the horses coming down the road. Two men rode side by side, stopping as Titan’s hoof snapped a twig. I held my breath, counting the tense seconds before the man closest to me clicked his tongue, edging his horse forward. I sighed, waiting momentarily as I looked at my mount, sighing as I rubbed his neck.

“As you are in the service of the Duke of Gloucester and consequently to the crown, it is ill advised to travel unaccompanied and unarmed.”

I jumped as I heard the voice. Unfamiliar and deep, I saw the shadowed figure approaching on foot. I squinted, allowing my eyes the time they needed to adjust to focus on the man. “Sir Robert?” My eyes widened as I recognised his features. He had been one of the last people I had expected to see in the dark woods and alone. I could think of no reason why a man of his status, so trusted by Duke Richard, would find himself beside me. I gripped the reins tighter as one answer came to mind. “Are you following me?”

“Not following Beaufort, rather I have been employed to make sure that no harm should come to you whilst you are working for his grace the duke, for that would look right terrible for him and his royal brother.” Brackenbry sounded official. I could tell from his tone he took no joy in accompanying me in the shadows, of following me as though I were a suspect. “Do not think my Lord does not trust you, for he does. He is simply looking out for your safety. After all, you seem to prefer travelling after dark. Tis not safe to travel at such a time, surely you know that?”   I nodded, of course I know that. Highway men and murderers were in their prime when darkness settled. Particularly now when the times for the poor were getting tougher, and love for King Edward had declined since his expensive war on France. A war which had been fruitless and cost the common tax payer more than he could afford. Any mann who was in the service of a Yorkist would feel the heavier wrath of the criminals.

Brackenbry looked awkward, which was apparent from his posture. He approached me, standing next to Titan’s body. His hand brushed my leg as he stroked my mounts coat. “Will you be accepting my lords offer? To dine with him tonight? He would be disappointed if you would not, and would expect an explanation as to why. He knows of your wife’s differing loyalties.” Sir Robert looked amused as he said that. “He does not blame for, my lord truly understands difficult women and has patience for them. Of course, he would understand too if you thought it more appropriate to leave her behind. He apologises also, for the Lady Anne will be unable to attend the dinner. She has taken to her bed and that is regrettable for all.”

 

***

After Sir Robert’s reminder it had felt impossible to reject the offer the Duke had made. With my singular excuse dismissed by Duke Richard, who it seemed had somehow known about my wife’s differing loyalties, I knew that to refuse would be to insult his grace - and that, given my working relationship would have been exceptionally ill advised. So without hesitation, I had sent word to my wife that I would be dining with the duke and together Sir Robert and I had rode north to Sheriff Hutton, Gloucester’s stronghold several miles outside of York.

After ensuring Titan was secure in a stable and in the hands of a reliable stable hand I had been guided into the castle and into a hall which was both large and grand. The wooden walls were lined with rich tapestries depicting marvellous scenes. One pictured St George slaying the dragon, another showed women with daisy crowns circling a unicorn, another showed a battle - which one I had to question. Was it personal to the Duke? Did it depict Barnet or Tewkesbury, maybe Towton or Mortimer’s Cross. Mayhap it showed the battle of Hastings. A legend we had all heard about, where modern England had begun.

It was then I heard the man’s cough. Turning I swept myself into a bow. I was rather embarrassed to notice that whilst I had been entertaining myself by looking at the tapestries - which were obviously designed to be looked at - his grace the Duke had been sat observing me from his grand chair. An oak throne like seat calved with ornate designs I struggled to make out. “Come, sit.” Duke Richard smiled at me.

I silently obeyed, sitting upon the bench which has been pulled right up to the table. I glanced towards him, seeing him properly for the first time in the bright light of the castle’s great hall. His features were surprisingly gentle, and the smile, despite rumours, seemed natural on his handsome face. I blushed as that thought crossed my mind, who was I to be admiring the looks of another man, especially a royal duke. It was as though he had read my mind when he spoke again. “You need not be embarrassed. I am a Plantagenet, brother to the King of England who quite coincidentally is also reputed for being the most handsome man in all of Christendom. I am used to people looking in admiration. To look favourably upon pleasing features is not akin to sodomy.” I gasped, and thankfully Duke Richard laughed. “To save face, shall we pretend your embarrassment was over your over keen eye for the decorations. So over keen that you missed my presence and skipped a proper greeting. Though I am glad my brother’s money is well invested in these luxuries. They are supposed to be looked at after all.”

“They are the height of fashion.” I mused, half to myself, half to Duke Richard but completely redundantly. Of course the Duke of Gloucester would know they were the heigh of fashion; particularly if they had been sent north to him from London. As he didn’t respond I looked to him, seeing he was inspecting his hands with sharp brown eyes. Sharp brown eyes I was sure would miss nothing. Such thoughts reminded me of my previous suspicions that Gloucester had spent men to spy on me. Perhaps that was how he had known that Anna’s loyalties did not lie with the House of York.

“Your Grace.’ He looked up. “Might I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“I would not ask but I have seen so many of your men these past days. More numbers than I have usually seen, in places I would have thought you have little interest.”

‘You have seen my men around your manor and wish to know if they are in my employ to gather information about you?” He didn’t need me to reply, he knew my suspicions already and was ready to be held accountable for his actions. “I trust that you are aware that as you are in the King’s service, and may meet him when he comes north to York, I have to be aware of any threats you may pose. To myself, my brother or any other member of the nobility. Be glad I had my men around your presence, that was why I felt it suitable to invite you to dine with me. I worry that for a royal servant you are insufficiently fed, which does not begin well for good work does it man?”

As though on cue, the doors opened and servants wearing blue doublet’s embroided with the whyte boar of Gloucester entered; each carrying a silver platter of the richest and finest foods. We said nothing until they had been placed upon the table when Duke Richard outstretched a hand. “Help yourself.”

With a nervous hand I obeyed his orders. It seemed improper to eat before a royal duke, even at his order. No matter, he looked satisfied as I filled the plate his servants had put before me, eating the food without word. I was unsure of the table etiquette of the nobility, that was a lesson the monks had never seen it fit to teach me. As I looked to Duke Richard, who was by now filling his own plate with food I could tell that something was troubling him. No man would have a single motive to invite an apparent stranger to his castle. Had he truly wished only to feed me he would surely have sent food, so what had changed since our meeting at Micklegate Bar two days ago?

I glanced to Duke Richard as his hand paused above the roasted ham, hesitating a moment before he lifted a slice onto his own plate. As he glanced up, meeting my eye he smirked. “It seems you cannot keep your eyes from me!” He laughed at that, sitting back in his chair. I could not help but join his laughter, the sound was almost musical, contagious and it sounded so healthy. “I question though, what it is you look at. I am used also to men staring at my..” He paused, searching for the right word. He frowned then, wincing as he said the word. “Disfiguration.”

“I do not look at your stature your grace.” I said the words honestly. “I glance at you for I am nervous. This is an unfamiliar scene to me, I am out of comfort.”

“And you question why it is I called you here.” He smirked. “Yes Beaufort, my brother is not the only man who can read people well. Nor am I. I cannot hide that there are questions I want to ask it seems. So shall we wait no longer and I shall put your nerves to ease. What have you found of the man who slaughtered Master Croft? I hear you spoke with the Sheriff, was that useful? I have told him that you have the power, that he is to be at your disposal and that he should play nice. Whatever Francis may want.”     
  
“Sir Francis does not trust me, does he your grace?”

“Francis Lovell is a complicated man. But no, he does not trust you.”

I paused a moment, looking to Duke Richard for affirmation before I began to talk. “My leads have led to little. I had none until today.”

“What happened to change that?”

“I was approached, by two men. They seemed to have an interest in the happenings of the last week. They took me to see a man, he goes by the name of Master John. He lives in the town, in secrecy it seems.” I paused, watching as the Duke’s body language changed, he had tensed suddenly, gripping the ham so hard it crumbled. He reached, wiped his fingers on the cloth covering the table and waved for me to continue. Whatever had forced his body language to change had soon passed. “He mentioned that he had seen those who had committed the crime your grace. A man and a woman.”

“A woman?” He seemed surprised, but then shrugged. He had clearly accepted that this was a possibility.

“He said something else your grace. He said that he had reason to believe that these people were in royal employ.”

Gloucester stopped, his hand shaking as his skin paled. “That is impossible.”

“I am only repeating what was said your grace.”

“And whose employ did Master John suggest these people were in?”

I gulped, unwilling to deliver this news. Uncertain of how Duke Richard would react. Would he have me hung on the spot for accusing a man so much above me? Would he believe me? “They accused Sir Thomas Grey your grace.” I said the words nervously, stuttering them.

A small smile toyed on the Duke’s lips as he leaned forward, looking at me. “And these men who took you to Master John, who were they?”

“They were not of yours I do not think. At least, they did not wear your colours.”

“And what colours did they wear?” He seemed amused, despite the news I was delivering to him. Perhaps he had expected that Sir Thomas Grey would be involved? Perhaps he desired it?

“They wore red and gold your grace.”

Then, all amusement vanished from his face. Replaced by the hardening eyes and stiffening lips which accompanied anger.


	9. Chapter 9

"Red and gold you are sure?”

“Quite sure your grace.” I did not understand. My eyes fixed upon him as he stood, abandoning the idea of food as he paced back and forth.

“Why is he involving himself in these matters?” The Duke muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “How has he heard about this?”

“Who is he your grace?”

Duke Richard looked to me, his eyes widening as though he had forgotten my presence. He sighed. “My wayward brother the Duke of Clarence seems to have men in York. Men who it appears have an interest not only in the happenings of the past week but with you too. How did they know who you were?”

“ I don't know your grace.” I looked away. Somehow I felt as though this was my fault. As though I had not taken enough care to ensure that nothing could have happened to me, that Glouester’s brother would not come along and manipulate me. Would not have me kidnapped in the pretence of giving me information.

“What did you tell them of what you already know?”

“Nothing your grace, but I had so very little.”

“And they led you to Sir John?” My eyebrow arched. Why had the Duke of Gloucester addressed Master John as ‘Sir’? It seemed the Duke had noticed my silent query. He began talking again. “Master John as he now calls himself has a secret. He is one of my most loyal informants and a man for whom I would sacrifice a lot. Enough to offer him a secret identity. Enough to keep him alive.” He said nothing more than that. I knew it was not my place to pry about who this man was, and why he had earned Duke Richard’s loyalty. I did not need to. Whoever this Sir John really was, it was clear that Duke Richard was less than pleased his identity had been breeched, particularly as it was now the knowledge of the Duke of Clarence.

“Your Grace, there is something I should tell you. That the men said to me.”

“What is that then?”

“They said that I should tell you everything they give me, that they are helping me. But in return for their assistance, they request that I inform them of everything you say.”

Duke Richard retook his seat. Staring absent mindedly at the wall opposite before he shouted. “Francis!” I gulped, ready to endure the scrutinising presence of Sir Francis Lovell.

It was a few minutes before the small man entered, his blonde hair dishevelled. Whatever he had been called from had clearly been altering his appearance. Duke Richard did well not register his disgust and surprise at his retainers appearance. “My Lord?” Sir Francis spoke, first his eyes on Gloucester showed embarrassment for his less than pristine appearance and then to me, where they glazed with a unwarranted hatred.

“I think it is time Beaufort was leaving. We have a few problems which require our urgent attention. Could you kindly show our guest to the stables and reunite him with his mount. He shall be on his way with an armed escort. We cannot risk him being attacked by villains on his route home.”

  “I shall escort him if you wish my lord?” Sir Francis smirked as he looked at me, his gaze akin to a serpent in the grass.

  “That will not be necessary. Robert can escort him, after all, you required here and I would like our guest to return to his wife very much alive Francis. No, you will show him to the stables and fetch Sir Robert. Then you will return to me with haste.” Gloucester looked at me as I rose to my feet. “Good even Laurent.”

I turned then, heading towards the door with a bow. Internally I grinned, whatever else had happened here tonight, that was the first time the Duke of Gloucester had addressed me with my name. That I noticed was an honour.

***  

It was the small hours of the morning by the time I arrived at the manor. I entered to darkness. The exception being a singular candle which was left burning incase of late night visitors. I picked it up, carrying it through the hall and into the small room which remained hidden to all but those who knew of it. This was my office, a small but cosy room. Wood panelled wars, absent of the rich tapestries owned by nobility. When I had inherited this manor, it had been stripped of it’s previous fineries. Valuables had been forfeit to the crown. In the centre of the room stood a large desk, it was on this I laid out the parchment which had been resting in the leather bag handed to me by Sheriff Hastings.

The words were unclear under the light of a single candle, but I had little time to waste. Sleep would not happen this night, not whilst Gloucester would be experiencing his own wakeful night whilst he dealt with his irksome brother the Duke of Clarence. Whatever Clarence’s intents, they seemed to worry Duke Richard.

I looked at the notes made by the Sheriff’s clerks, reading the scrawls through squinted eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I have been ill.

What had I learnt? The scrolls had told me several things which I had already known. The murder had happened in darkness, no one had seen what had happened. Except Master John, or so he had said. I was beginning to question the accuracy of the man’s statement. How could he have known it was a man and a woman who had committed the crime when it had been dark? Of course he could have heard the voices, but that was not condemning evidence, nor proof that the voices he had heard had belonged to the criminals.

However it was the only lead I had, and having told the Duke of Gloucester, it would be so very difficult to drop the lead. Especially with accusations against the King’s stepson. I looked at the scrolls again. Sunlight beaming through the glass windows was the only sign of the time. They read the same. I was about to reread when I heard the knock on the door, looking toward it I cleared my throat, rubbing my eyes back to life. “Enter.” I said it clearly, waiting until I heard the creak of the ageing hinges before I turned to see Anna. “Anna, what is it?” I ran my hand through my hair, waiting for her to speak. Whatever she was about to say, after a restless night I was not ready to hear her anti-York outbursts. Instead she sounded less confident, a pang of fear was in her voice.

“Sir Francis Lovell is outside, accompanied by Sir Robert Brackenbry. They are in the banquet hall husband. They have come to take you to York. The Duke of Gloucester has had a man and a woman arrested. They are to be hung for treason.” I knew she had not finished as I stood, walking slowly allowing her chance to continue. “Husband, you must ask them not to do this. You must.” I heard the crack in her voice before I saw the tears in her eyes.

“Why must I Anna? I do not hold the authority to question the Duke of Gloucester. If they are traitors wife they should be punished. However my Lord Gloucester sees fit. Should he say he wants them hung is much nicer than I fear the King would inflict upon them. They are of the common sort and should be grateful they are not to be hung drawn and quartered. We are not to question that Anna and with Gloucester’s retainers in our hall I would expect even you to have more intelligence than to question York’s authority.”

She stopped, shaking her head and wiping her palms of her skirts. “You do not see it do you husband? She is my cousin!”

My heart stopped as I looked to my wife, seeing her tears escaping her eyes. I headed to the door then, signalling for her to follow as I cast it open. I saw Sir Francis pacing, whilst Sir Robert looked out of the window when my boots made impact with the floorboards, both sets of eyes landed upon me. “Gentlemen.” I mustered the courage to speak, looking to my wife in an attempt to stall, if only to decide what I was going to say.

  “Beaufort.” Sir Francis said with more than a little indignation. He grimaced as I stepped forward.  
   
“With what can I help you?”

“You mentioned to Sir Robert last the names of those whom you had identified as the criminals. Duke Richard has had them arrested and sentenced for the most heinous crime of treason and today they shall l be executed in the minster square this morn. We have come to escort you there with your lady wife, for we thought you might want to see justice brought down upon the shoulders of those who betray the most noble King Edward.” Sir Francis smirked as he said it, his eyes fixing firmly upon both of us. I did not have to know Sir Francis to know what his look accused both Anna and I of Treason.

I ignored his look, turning to Sir Robert who offered me a reluctantly sympathetic smile. “Sir Robert, a word.”

Sir Francis sighed as Brackenbry nodded, approaching slowly. “Do not dally, they will not wait for us.”

Sir Francis made no effort to step away as I lowered my voice to speak to Sir Robert. “Sir Robert, I have a concern. Need Anna attend the execution with us?”

Sir Robert looked over my wife, smiling as he did. “Gloucester will expect it, what is her reason. Is she of fragile condition? Will the shock kill the babe?”

“No, no Anna is not pregnant. She knows the woman who will be hung. They are related.”

“Related?” It was Sir Francis’s voice which broke through the air. “Related how?”

“We are cousins my lord.” Anna muttered quietly, curtsying as she did. I worked hard not to allow my eyes to widen, I had never seen my wife subservient to a man.   
“Cousins?” Sir Francis smiled. “Cousins to a traitor. As she is not your sister I will assume you are not involved, nor are you close enough to feel the shock enough to harm you. You shall come wench.”

“Sirrah, you will not insult my wife such in her own home.” The reaction was instinctive, I could not allow this man to insult my wife, no matter if she deserved it. “She will not be going. She had no involvement in the case.”

“If I give an order Beaufort, you will obey as will your common tart of a wife. You are not the Duke of Somerset, though you are his son, and you hold no authority.” Sir Francis said the words through gritted teeth.

“However Francis.” Sir Robert’s voice was soft. He held no anger nor condemnation as he looked to Anna, taking her hand as he guided her to a settle. I had not noticed my wife’s earie complexion before that moment as she sat with apparent frailty upon the settle. “He, as her husband, has the authority to command she stay under the safety of this roof. You are not he who holds the authority to command a man’s household nor his wife. The order is for Laurent Beaufort only to attend the execution, with Madam Anna to be invited only, with no order to attend. You are to leave the decision to the family Francis, as Laurent is not the Duke of Somerset, you are not the Duke of Gloucester nor the King of England. The lady shall stay and you shall remain silent or Gloucester will hear about it.”

 

***

Sir Francis had seemed bitter throughout the duration of our ride to York. His attitude was more chilling, more dangerous than usual. Despite the decision having been made by Sir Robert, even by Duke Richard, Sir Francis appeared to be laying the blame at my feet. Even the thought of having crossed this man, who could have me hung at a whim, could not stop my stomach churning over what would be the fate of these two people. Two people I had convicted.

  As we arrived at castle gate I slowed my mount, rubbing his neck gently as he panted. Sir Francis offered me a dark glance as he pulled up tightly on his reins, I watched his mount slow in response. He smiled then, not a friendly smile, more of a crooked, twisted grin. “Are you nervous Laurent?”

  This was the first time he had used my given name. This usually friendly gesture made me shudder, made me nervous, anxious for my own life, although there was no reason I yet know of to do so. I shook my head, looking straight ahead in order to avoid eye contact - to protect my emotions. “No Sir Francis. I do believe I have no reason to be nervous.”

“No, no of course not.” He smiled once again, this time looking cocky, arrogant. “Unless.” He looked to me, as though the thought I knew had long been settled in his less than cunning mind had just occurred. “If the Duke of Gloucester were to find after this event that you had been wrong, or deceived him, I doubt he would be happy. He may even subject you to the same fate.”

  I was grateful then for the company of Sir Robert as we caught up to his stationary mount. He held up a hand, looking to us both as I pulled Titan to a standstill. “We dismount and walk, these men will take the horses and water them.” Sir Robert then handed his reins to one of the men, nodding for me to do the same as a second man approached me.

  Once on the floor, stood beside my noble companions we began to walk. Sir Robert, standing close beside me began to speak. “I would not worry about Lovell’s words. Duke Richard does not think that you are lying monsieur.”

  For that I could say, I was exceptionally thankful.

***

The sound of people filled our ears as we entered the crowd here to watch the ‘entertainment’. Men and women pushed and shoved, moving reluctantly as Sir Francis led the way, dragging me by the sleeve toward the front and then - to my surprise - up the steps of the gallows. “Stand there.” He said, pointing to the edge. “Don't move forward, we wouldn’t want our executioner to think you are the one he wants. God forbid his hand should slip.” He didn’t bother to hide the hope in his voice, he did not try to mask his hate for me.

  Already I had grown used to the hate. I myself had come to regard this man with a contempt I had felt for no one else. I could not help but dislike him more as the crowd stood, staring and already shouting insults, some at us and some at the man and woman now nervously climbing the steps behind Sir Robert. There were no introductions, no chances to say goodbye. This, the execution of the lower classes was nothing alike to the executions I recalled. Noble men were allowed to say goodbye, noble men were allowed to pray. Of course, I had to assume that this pair had their time to pray and to confess in Clifford’s tower at dawn.

  I closed my eyes, gripping the wooden post behind me as Sir Francis took hold of the woman who stood before me, looking to me with the faintest recognition. It could not be so of course, but it was as if she knew who I was, that I was the husband of the cousin she barely knew. I gulped as I heard the wood crack, the stool kicked away from beneath her and the crowd cheer and clap and shriek and cry. I opened my eyes in time enough to see the body hanging. I was naive to think it could not be worse, that it could not get worse. The second time I watched him swing, a sight which sent me down the stairs to vomit.

  As I looked up Sir Francis stood, leaning against a supporting pillar of the large stage above. “Too much for your good Christian mind monsieur? Or is is that you cannot stand to see justice served? Are you yourself a traitor? Confess. Your father was a traitor till his death and his father and his father alike. Admit you plot against King Edward and I shall ensure you have leniency.” Sir Francis had lowered his voice toward the end of his interrogation. His words sounded less of threat and more of a promise; an attempt at reassurance. My heart still thundered my hands shook.

  No matter what Sir Francis had expected, I knew he had thought us alone. That belief had been mutual, and so we both turned in stunned surprise to the voice that cut through every other. “Francis away, I shall deal with you later.” Duke Richard tossed his reins to Sir Francis as he stepped closer to me. “Worry not Laurent. You have done me good service and for that I am grateful. Enough to suggest that when my brother arrives, you should come and greet him. I wish him to see the man responsible for this good work.”

  “That would be an honour your grace.”

  “An honour he does not deserve.” Sir Francis’s muttered comment was shot down with a chilling look from Duke Richard.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a month before the King arrived at York. I had been sent the word to come immediately at 4pm.

By the time we were gathered at the Minster’s square it was dark. Candles flickered as they were held by numerous retainers. In the distance we could hear the clatter of hooves on cobbles, and with them my heart pounded. Why was I here, stood next to the Duke of Gloucester so proudly? Sir Francis looked over to me, even in the poor light I could see he was glaring, hate seething from him as though it were a living thing, growing its own body; existing indecently of him. I averted my eyes, looking at the floor.

The hooves were getting closer, numerous horses were moving nearer and already we could see the flickers of the lanterns carried by the royal entourage. As Gloucester looked to me, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow, I realised my hand had been gripping my belt. Suddenly pain rushed through my hand, making me curse as the iron shoes of the horses became deafening and their shadows danced on buildings. Not two minutes later they had come to a stop before us and I was looking down the snout of a panting grey.

I followed Sir Francis’s lead, falling to my knees in a respectful bow as the man at the head of the heard dismounted, followed closely by the two men neighbouring him. Duke Richard stepped forward, bowing as he dipped onto one knee. “Your Grace.” I double blinked, to my surprise the man he had directed the welcome to, the man he now grasped the hand of as he pressed it delicately to his lips, was not the man in the centre.   

“You need not greet me so formally Richard.” His voice was deep, raising up from deep within his throat. I took a moment to look at the other men from my position below them. The man closest to me, and furtherest right of King Edward was a small man, around my own height of five foot six, and ageing. His hair shone grey in the light, with strips of dark shadowing it’s silvery sheen. The other man, central was shorter than the King, around five feet eleven inches he was taller than Duke Richard, and on his face I saw a smile. Though not one of happiness, rather of smug satisfaction as my lord turned to him.   

“George.” Was the only word he muttered. I did not need to ask, quickly I averted my gaze completely, knowing I had looked upon the Duke of Clarence. The middle brother of three great men, and a man with a fearsome reputation for strictness. Particularly to those he saw as lower than his status, which was just about everybody.

I did not need to look to feel Duke Richard stiffen. I believe every man in the square could read the unwritten words, would feel the tension which would soon snap, and with it my lord of Clarence would end up bloody. Our King, whose reputation for reading people exceeded him, stepped diagonally in front of his brother’s first greeting Sir Francis. “Rise up, Sir Francis and?” He looked to me, with welcoming blue eyes.  

  “Laurent Beaufort.” I said, this time not so proudly. He offered me a quizzical eyebrow raise.   
  
“Oh.” The word was a barely audible grunt.   
  
I noticed Clarence step forward, gazing at me as though I was pray in the presence of a lion. He smirked. “He is the bastard son of the late Duke of Somerset, he who our father killed at-”  

“I know who he is.” I blinked, hoping to God King Edward did not see. I had not expected that he would know me, yet his voice was full of contempt, of a loathing. “Rise up anyway.” He said with reluctance, turning quickly to Duke Richard as his familiar voice filled the air.

“Laurent assisted in resolving the situation Edward. Indeed we could not have done it without him.” Richard held up a hand to Sir Francis, silencing whatever contradictory thing he wanted to say.

   King Edward looked between myself and Richard before his deep blue eyes focused on me. “Is that so? Tell me, Beaufort, is the situation resolved and those responsible duly punished?”

“Indeed it-” I was cut off as the whistling sound filled the air. The movement made was instinctive as the men before me moved, King Edward ducked before the arrow impacted. His horse shrieked, rearing up before it hit the ground, circling in a frenzy.

“Orion, whoa boy!” King Edward reached for the creatures reins, attempting to calm the beast as his hand touched Orion’s neck. A second whistle cut through the air. Our sovereign moved his hand with less than a second to spare as the arrow pierced the geldings throat, sending it to the ground with a thud.

“Your Grace we must move, now!” The man closest to me shouted, shoving King Edward fast towards his own horse. I saw little as our king mounted the saddle. Only the look her gave him before he kicked the creature to life. Whatever else he would say to me, I knew that for this I would never be forgiven. Whoever was behind this attack had been behind the murder, whoever had been here tonight was guilty of treason. Whoever had done this had planned it well, and they had made me look a fool.

“Oh dear, forgive me for pointing out the obvious but, this does not look good.” I heard Sir Francis whisper to me as the royal fleet sprung life, following Duke Richard’s direction at a gallop.

I knew to what he was referring. Whatever else happened this night, Duke Richard would be furious with me.

***

The Castle of Sheriff Hutton was an hours ride away from York. I had been tempted to divert away from the entourage and toward the manor. I had resisted, if only for the fact that Sir Francis rode so close beside me that I had felt the muscles in his thigh moving in rhythm with his mount. We had trotted down the old road, inhaling the dust left by the royal entourage now half a mile ahead.

   Duke Richard’s eyes kept meeting mine, the pang of anger shooting like lightening across the deep brown of his eye. I had shamed him, or so he believed. Furthermore, I had made an accusation more serious than my status allowed. I had accused the King’s own step-son, Thomas Grey, of committing treason. Acting on his own or another’s behalf to hire assassins to kill his royal step father.  

Such an accusation, if found to be false, would be the death of me and the downfall of Gloucester.

We arrived at the bailey of the castle. I pulled the reins taught, stopping Titan, handing the reins to Gloucester as he snapped them from my hand. For a man of his stature, he had never ceased to amaze me with his ability to move with such speed and agility. I had never seen a man dismount with such speed. I jumped from the saddle, moving back quickly as Duke Richard handed the reins to his groom. Soon he turned on me, forcing me to walk backwards. “Explain, quickly. What the hell happened out there?”

“I don't know.” I stuttered the words as I never had in my life. My hands shook and I could hear my heart in my ears. Despite my nerves, my fear, I did not fail to notice the smug expression fixed on Sir Francis’s face.

“The King of England could have died and you claim you do not know what happened? How can you not know what happened?” Gloucester’s face was turning red as his anger rose, about to explode. “I thought we had caught them, they were hung not two days ago. The threat had been removed. Yet my brother’s horse is killed before us, and he survived only for his own fast reflexes. You have made me look like a fool!” He turned from me, removing his cap and wiping the sweat from his head with the back of his hand. “Come with me, we shall find his grace and you can explain, for his mood will be right sore from all of this and he will want an explanation.”

I followed Duke Richard as he walked a heavy footed trajectory into and through the castle. When we found King Edward, he was sat in the great hall, resting his eyes as he sat in the grandest chair. Usually reserved only for Duke Richard I knew. Beside our sovereign knelt a small woman. Her frame was delicate, her stature slim and skin pale, overall she looked breakable. I knew who she was before she stood, greeting Duke Richard in a way which only a wife could as she wrapped her arms around him, whispering words I could not hear before she looked at me.

I did not know what a Neville did, or should, look like but I imagined that she was the stereotypical Neville. Despite her apparent frailty, she carried herself with a dignity which screamed authority. No smile etched on her lips as she glanced upon me, walking towards Sir Francis, greeting him with a warm smile as Duke Richard pushed me forward.

“Your Maj-” I stopped as King Edward’s eyes opened, hardening as he glared at me, leaning forward ever so slightly. He said nothing for a moment, biting his lip before he inhaled sharply. It had taken me a moment to understand my king was gathering his energy to take control of his nerves once more. My eyes moved unconsciously to his hand as it was shaking. He rested it quickly on the chairs arm.

“What happened Richard? I thought you had resolved the problem. You force a Lancastrian upon me and sing his praises and then I am almost assassinated in my ducal city.” His voice was shaky, a whisper. He sounded less than confident and the expression on Richard of Gloucester’s face went from one of confidence to one of fear. It was clear that he had never seen his brother so visibly shaken.

“Edward, your grace, we are unsure. Beaufort will find answers. He will be under my supervis-”  

“No Richard, no.” I saw Gloucester gulp, looking to me before he looked back to his brother. “Somerset’s bastard has done enough for you.” Now it was my turn to gulp, looking toward the windows as I feared for my life. Edward of York had already demonstrated little love for me. Now his patience was dwindling and I feared that the incidents of today would have hardened his conscience and that I would be at the receiving end of any cruelty he felt like dealing. “George will take charge and you, Beaufort should learn to acquaint yourself with my brother of Clarence. He will put an end to this, he is loyal.”   

I saw the look King Edward offered Duke Richard, and the look of contempt he received in return.


	12. Chapter 12

The Duke of Clarence had called me immediately to his chambers. In the candle light of the chamber, his features were shockingly similar to his brother the King’s. For a fearful moment I had believed I could have entered the wrong chambers; until I saw the smug expression his face. “Don’t bother to bow.” Those were his first words to me as I stopped myself from bending at the waist in my recognition of his authority. He rose then, sauntering toward me, pausing as he sat upon the table. “Since Gloucester has failed to serve my brother King Edward, the rules will change. I don’t know how you worked with Richard, I don’t know what arrangement you had but know one thing Beaufort. I am in charge, and you will do everything I say. You will follow every order. To the letter. Am I clear?”

I nodded, knowing not what else to do. I looked to the fire, trying to avoid the Duke’s keen, gloating eyes. No matter what else Clarence said, no matter what he did not say, Duke Richard’s failure and his consequent fall from favour had pleased George of Clarence, immensely.

“Take a seat.” He pointed then to the cushioned chairs in the corner. I followed his command, sitting in the chair he indicated, trying hard to look at him as he sat opposite. “So tell me, what has happened? Why was my brother attacked?”

“I do not know your grace.”

He sighed, looking away and then back again. “I don't know why I expected something different. Word got to London that the man responsible for the attacks was Sir Thomas Grey, Viscount of Dorset. Tell me more about this.”

“I heard that from a source I had in York.”

“Who?”

“His name is Master John. I believe he is known by the Duke of Gloucester.”

“He is?” That seemed to surprise Duke George, he arched an eyebrow, leaning forward in the chair. “Known how?” He seemed more suspicious than I would have liked.  “I don’t know sir.”

He nodded, flicking a hand to continue. A gesture I had now realised to be a feature of the ruling classes. “The same man implicated the pair we had executed earlier this week.”   
“About those two who were they? Men of any standing?”

“One was a woman sir, and no. They were of no importance, other than that they were the ones who killed the King’s courier.”

“Of course you will know the King’s stepson was arrested. So now we must find out how he got word to York and why there was an attack on the King’s life. Thank God they did not succeed, that would have been disastrous.”

I don’t know what it was, but something flicked across his eyes.  “Mayhap it was not Sir Thomas Grey? Perhaps my source was wrong.”

“No, I am sure it was Sir Thomas. He wants power for his mother. After all if King Edward were to be dead, then his mother, the Queen would rule England through her young son.”

Clarence stood and looked to me. Pacing back and forth as he did. “But if the boy is in the tower, then how did he get word to York?”

“Through his mother?” The words came out of my mouth before I considered them. Before I considered the weight of my accusation.

“You accuse the Queen?” For a moment I thought I saw anger, or was it delight? He sighed, the puzzle obviously being contemplated in his mind. “It is possible.” He sat once more. “She had the resources, the knowledge, the power. I shall think on that possibility. For now I need to sleep. Meanwhile, before you rest your eyes, go and speak to my brother.”

“Gloucester?”

“No, King Edward.”


	13. Chapter 13

I should have known better. By the time Clarence had finished speaking with me it was the dark of night. I crept down the halls of Sheriff Hutton, having a care to step quietly so as not to wake those who did not wish to be woken. Clarence had informed me of where King Edward’s chambers were, insisting that the King would not be abed. When I reached the east wing of the castle the sound of music confirmed Clarence’s word. Beneath the door I could see the flicker of candle light emerging and from within the sound of voices pricked my ears. I knocked twice, loudly so as to be heard. A moment later the voices paused and the door opened.

I gulped, looking to the floor as I had glanced the man who had opened the door. King Edward appeared less than pleased to see me. The tension in his upper body suggested that he was less than amused by this invasion of his privacy. “Beaufort.” He hissed the word. I did not dare correct him, only bowed deeply, increasing his displeasure. “Well?” His tone was snappy.

“If your majesty has a moment, I would like to speak to you.”

“You want to speak to me?” He raised an eyebrow, looking to the man who sat by the burning fire within the chamber. The older man was the same as who earlier that night had insisted King Edward take his horse to the safety of Sheriff Hutton. Whoever he was he seemed to hold influence. King Edward sighed, stepping back. “You’d better come in.”

I could not stop my eyes widening in surprise as I entered the King’s sleeping chamber looking around at the surprisingly sparse rooms. “I thank your majesty.” He nodded then, lowering himself into a chair with a frailty I had not expected. Were the events of the night still troubling him? Had the closeness of the arrows made him feel vulnerable? Had he been injured? “Is your majesty well?”

“As well as to be expected. What questions do you have to ask me at such a ridiculous time of night?”

“I would not trouble you so late if it were not important. My questions come from his grace the Duke of Gloucester.”

“I told Dickon he is not to involve himself in this anymore. And I told you that you are now in the employ of my brother the Duke of Clarence. He has not seen it fit to dismiss you? A pity.”

I ignored his insults, taking a breath to steady my voice. “His grace the Duke of Clarence thought it appropriate to ask the questions which Duke Richard had your majesty.”

“And why is George not here asking himself?”

“He is abed sire, and requested I ask with urgency.” He sighed, flicking a hand informing me that I was free to ask my questions. Although I could tell that his answers may not be forthcoming. “We have reason to suspect that someone close to your majesty is behind the attacks.”

“Well I would assume so, but I believe what Dickon has invested money in Mr de’Beoufou is who would go to so much effort, and why they would want to kill me.”

‘We have names your majesty. They are but possibilities.” I waited a moment, continuing as he said nothing. “We have reason to suspect that Sir Thomas Grey is involved.”

I watched as King Edward rose suddenly, towering above me, his cheeks reddening. “The Queen’s son?”

“Yes your majesty.”

“And why do you suspect him? Your evidence must be... substantial.” He smirked, as though already he doubted the evidence I held before I presented it to him. He of course was right, I had doubted the evidence since I had offered it to Gloucester. Even with the confessions of the traitors who had now been hung, I was uncertain of the truth of the facts. It still did not make sense that Sir Thomas Grey or even the Queen, Elizabeth, would be involved.

“We have heard rumours, musings if you will that he-”  
  “Musings? You accuse my step son, the queens own son and a man of four times the standing of yourself of treason? I hope you have more than musings to back that statement up or I shall dispatch you to join your family. Well suited you will be when you are reunited burning in hell.”

I didn’t know what to say. For moments I stood in silence, barely taking in the people around me. I then noticed the older man had stood, was moving towards King Edward. Daringly he rested a hand upon his shoulder. “Ned, perhaps you should hear the man out. Listen to his sources.”

“He has accused my wife’s flesh and blood of treason, without good reason. I should have him killed Will, have him executed for the treacherous leach he is. His family were the same. Do you know how long I struggled under the authority of the Beaufort’s? What they put my house through. What his father.” he pointed to me, his eyes burning fury. “Did to my father, what he allowed to happen to my brother? Edmund was innocent. When I ridded myself of Edmund Beaufort at Tewkesbury, I was sure I was done with them. That could never be true. I could never be so fortunate.” As he panted, catching his breath after his spell of anger I had chance to realise, his anger was much more than a simple accusation. It was deep rooted and personal.

I wanted to speak, to beg he listen and accept that I had no role to play in my father’s acts. That I was innocent and that he, a benevolent man by reputation, should not sentence and innocent man to death. I knew I could not. Had it not been a breach of etiquette I could not have. My tongue felt as though it had swollen in my mouth, was suddenly heavy. I couldn’t move it for trying.

  Thankfully the older man spoke. I saw his hand rubbing up and down the King’s forearm, a soothing gesture I know. I closed my eyes, trying to take control of my emotions whilst he spoke. “Ned, I understand, but Beaufort is not to blame for his grace your noble father, nor for what happened to Edmund, tragic though it was. You cannot blame him, should not blame him and this not you. If your lady mother was here she would surely be displeased. We both do know that. Beaufort is doing as he has been instructed by George and Richard and appears loyal. You should hear who he speaks for when he accuses young Thomas Grey.”

As the old man looked at me, I his inner most thoughts hidden deep within his eyes. Whoever this man was, I knew that I had delivered the news he had wanted to hear. He, like Gloucester, did not trust Sir Thomas Grey.

I looked to King Edward as he sighed, turning to his bed. “I shall think on this, but I am weary. leave me for tonight. Will that includes you. I wish to be alone.”

“Sire I would protest.” I said the words daringly, risking his anger once more. He did not fall back into the depths of rage. Instead he turned to look at me with questioning eyes. “Apologies your majesty, I simply do not think it wise that you are left alone with the stakes so high.”

He sighed, and nodded. “Will, keep guard outside my chambers. I shall call if aught happens. Now leave. Both of you.”


	14. Chapter 14

When the sun rose I had found myself climbing from my trestle bed, stretching away the tension which had nested deep within my back. I had been summoned by the Duke of Clarence and had quickly obeyed his summons, only to find the man dining over his breakfast. He had dismissed me quickly, after an update of his thoughts. He seemed more certain than the evidence allowed that the person behind this could be Sir Thomas Grey. To him, the strangeness of the situation made sense. With King Edward dead, the Bitch (I a summed he referred to Queen Elizabeth) would be free to rule England. Undisputed by any man.

I had nodded, listening to his words and truing to digest them. Something did not sit right and no matter how I tried, I could neither learn to like nor trust my new master. Something was amiss with Clarence. By appearance he was more like King Edward than their dark haired, shorter brother the Duke of Gloucester. His humour seemed merrier and despite the drink - which he was seldom without - his health seemed less fragile. But despite the apparent warmth he offered, beneath it I could see his cool, icy demeanour. One which suggested deception and betrayal. One which told me that he was no innocent party and that the rifts which had come between himself and King Edward were far from healed.

I had been troubled by Clarence’s attitude as he had sat, amused, eating fruit which he washed down with wine. Soon after I had left his presence I had found myself wandering the castle grounds, soon joined by Sir Robert as he strolled in the morning sun. “Do not fret too much about yesterday. Gloucester does not blame you. You should know. He is cursing Clarence’s name. He is right to be suspicious, and a right shame it is that King Edward does not see it. George of Clarence is far from being loyal. He has had little support for Edward since having the freedom to make his own decisions.” Sir Robert looked around then, lowering his voice to just a whisper as he leaned in to me. “If only there was a way to convince King Edward that though George is of age to make decisions, he hardly has the mind or intelligence. The man should hold no more power than a infant. Of course, King Edward is guilty of blindness. He cannot see that George will betray him. Gloucester suspects that as his intention, but his majesty will not see it. For he is a romantic. Too many of Chaucer’s works have lulled him into believing his kindred to be loyal. Of course.” He raised his voice a bit more, my ears could finally stop their straining. “There is no man more loyal than the Duke of Gloucester.”

_Loyalte me lie..._

No, indeed I believed there wasn't.   
  
We had no more time to think of that as the voice from behind made both Sir Robert and I jump. “Is that so? You sing him praise Sir Robert. My brother should be proud to have you amongst his retainers. I believe that for all of your good intentions, you may have found me a man more loyal than Dickon. Which is quite ironic.”

Sir Robert blushed as he turned bowing. I followed more slowly. The voice had been one which I had heard just a few times before, yet there was no confusion who the man I would look up to see could be.

“Rise up, both of you. I will not have you put out your backs before me.” We obeyed. As I rose to my height King Edward caught my eye, his blue eyes glittering in the morning sun. “Monsieur Beaufort, might a request a word with you.” I nodded, unable to speak once more as we stepped away.

I recognised the older man from the King’s chambers as he approached. Soon he was greeted with the embrace of men who are familiar with one another. “I do believe some proper introductions are in order. This here is William Hastings, Lord Chamberlain of England and my most trusted servant. I would trust him with my life . More importantly, I would trust him with my sons life.” He looked to Lord Hastings with an unspoken affection. The chamberlain did not blush, instead he removed his cap in a sign of appreciation. “Anyway, that is not why I called you over. I wished to apologise for my behaviour last night. It was most unforgivable. I am sure you can understand my predicament. I was shaken. It is not everyday where someone tries to kill you, even as King.” He smiled then. “As my good humour has returned I thought I would take the chance to thank you for your advice last night. I was not thinking straight. Of course I should not have considered being left alone, given the circumstances. The weight of kingship can be exhausting. Sometimes my servants seem like nannies and I a child back in the nursery. All the same, I thank you for loyalty where I have earned none.”

I said nothing as we continued to walk. “One thing monsieur.” He stopped, looking amused as his eyes fixed upon Sir Robert. “Since you have Brackenbry’s ear in a way it seems I will never have, inform him that I enjoy games. I shall pretend I heard nothing of his words against my brother of Clarence. But you should inform him that a loose tongue may one day have Dickon in much trouble. I would surely hate that.” He turned then, towards the castle. I returned to Sir Robert Brackenbry, skipping the message I had been asked to give. No matter what the King of England asked of me. I could not shake the feeling of unease which accompanied Clarence’s name.

hich accompanied Clarence’s name.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry long time no update. Between all sorts of things I have found myself very busy on other projects - personal and professional. I have also been sadly lacking in inspiration for this. So if this falls below my normal standard? Pleade find it in your hearts to forgive me.

As I approached the Duke’s private apartments, the voices became louder. It was only as I stopped, just outside the door that it was evident two men were shouting. Two men whose voices were familiar. I said nothing as I leant against the wall. Perhaps I was guilty of prying, perhaps I was listening into the private lives of two brothers, or perhaps their conversation was relevant to the cause I served. “You were all too happy to accuse Dorset yourself if I recall, brother.” Clarence’s voice broke through the wall. Though it was before noon, his voice was not free of the drunken slur to which I had become accustomed. I did not need to be in his presence for the smell of wine to fill my nostrils.

 

“I have the gall the drop it when it seems it is not true!” Gloucester’s voice was raised in an anger I found hard to recognise. “I may not like the boy, yet I recognise when he is not guilty.”   
  
“He is _her_ son.” Clarence retorted, as though that in itself was the most worthy of explanations. Gloucester’s cold laughter was not the response I expected.   
  
“That does not make him a traitor.”  
  
“He is in with her ploy and you do know it.” Clarence scoffed as he spoke.   
  
“I do not know what her ploy is. You are in London all the more than I, please do elaborate.”  
  
“She. Is. A. Witch. She soothsays and since she had her will with Warwick, since she poisoned Edward’s mind against him she will not settle until she has rid of me.”  
  
There was a moments silence. Gloucester’s voice was quieter when he spoke and I found myself pressing my ear to the wood of the door. “That does not explain why Thomas Grey would arrange any of this. I might have believed it had our brother not escaped with his life in York, by luck no less. Not when I had brought those responsible to the gallows.”   
  
“Do you know they you hung were responsible? Grey is a Marquess, do you not think he had the power to employ more men?”  
  
Once again there was silence, followed by still quieter voices. “Why would he not have Edward killed in London?”  
  
“Because it would point directly to him. The Woodville whore is smart Dickon, she would have known that London posed too much of a risk.”  
  
“But why York? Had she wished she could have arranged our brother fall off his horse on his travels, be shot with an arrow on a hunting trip.”  
  
“With Will Hastings always at his side like a loyal pup? Doubtful.”  
  
“Do I detect jealousy, George?” I could see the smirk on Gloucester’s face. One which I reciprocated for only a moment before the voice cut through the air, sending my blood cold.  
  
“Should I be surprised to find you prying?” Sir Francis’s tone gave no room for mercy. “I can assure you, Richard of Gloucester will not forgive your prying. Clarence may look upon it a little more favourably, it does not fall below whatever standards he claims to have. I hope you have a reason to listen to their private affairs.”  
  
“I needed to see my lord of Clarence.” My tone gave nothing away.  
  
“You are still in his command on this matter? A pity, I would have thought the King would have removed you, now he sees you for what you are.” I raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I did walk with King Edward this morning. He wished to see the gardens and the markets and so, it was deemed appropriate that I should escort him. With Richard having so many other responsibilities. We spoke at length, he was curious about you. You do raise so many questions. I told him all I know. The son of the late duke of Somerset, raised by monks, married to a woman of questionable loyalties and without children.” He held up a hand as I pursed my lips to speak. “Of course that would not seem like much. Until we began to talk. See it is to your misfortune that the King was right curious as to how a man married for many years could not have children. You relinquished your vows to the church in your marriage, so that was not it. It seems that Sir William Hastings did recognise you.” He sighed, leaning against a wall. “It took him a long while to remember from where. Were you at Towton?” I gulped, my body freezing. “Yes, you were. That is understandable. You would have been young, and I am sure you were impressionable. Dragged along I’d say by questionable loyalties. Quite forgiveable. A quarter of the men of England it is said fought there. It would not take a fool to be found on the wrong side. Yet whilst King Edward may find himself able to forgive this, he may find it harder when he knows you too fought at Tewkesbury against him, that you supported your brother with funds and weapons. That you levied an army for Lancaster. He is not so keen to bandage the wounds of his enemies and repair the rifts of England. He will I am sure find it right hard to forgive your decision to hide this from him.”  
  
“He does not know?”   
  
Francis shook his head. “I did spare you on this. Sir William will hold his tongue on one assurance. You are to report to him. He does trust Clarence, he holds reluctance to trust you. Yet Richard does, so must I it seems. Do not think though that I will not watch you. You could cause great damage to the King and in turn to the man I serve. That is a sin I will not forgive. So I will see if your foot slips out of line, or your wealth increases without good cause. Now I know that you bankrupted yourself in your support for Lancaster.” His words stpped as the door opened. We both stood alert as Richard of Gloucester left the apartments, his eyes taking us in in silent questioning. “Laurent. Francis.” He said nothing more as he walked down the corridor and away from us. Sir Francis offered me a passing glance as he followed the Duke away from me as my name was announced to Clarence and I entered his chambers.


	16. Chapter 16

Lord Hastings sat opposite me in the room he had converted into a makeshift office. A small and would be dingy chamber had he not brought candles enough to light a palace. I winced at the expense. In the corner of the room was a small bed, expensive rugs covered a plump mattress and cushions were piled needlessly high. Hastings looked younger than his years I had learnt, for a man of forty five, he was aging well. Still, his dark eyes were hard as he looked at me intently, questioning and suspicious. I had been in his presence for little more than ten minutes, and so far neither of us had muttered a word. He shuffled papers here, signed some there and every so often, passed a glance to me. Finally, he cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Tell me, did you meet with the Duke of Clarence?" I nodded, he smirked. "Was it to your satisfaction?" I nodded again, knowing I should speak, though my tongue was heavy in my mouth. Whatever I had expected in the way of anger left my mind as he laughed. "You can speak, I will not catch your tongue with a blade for opening your mouth. I do not have that authority. So tell me now, was it to my satisfaction?"  
  
"Forgive me, Lord." My words were quiet, stuttered. "I would not know." 

"Of course not." He sighed. "Tell me, did hi Grace spew the usual tale that it is the Queen's son, the Marquess of Dorset who is behind this? The story you so enraged our King with. It is not to say I do not believe it possible. The Marquess and I have a rather personal relationship. He is sly, but I do not think the lilly livered prick capable of such a plot. As the Queen would have little to gain from it, then might I advise you ignore Clarence's goading. It will not see you profit, or fortunate. I have spoken to the King of the matter and he will not give it credence, in truth much as I may despise the boy, nor do I. So what other suggestions did Clarence make?"  
  
"Not many my lord, he seems obsessed with the prospect that the Queen is somehow behind it."  
  
"Do you think she is?" He sounded bored.   
  
"I cannot say, for I have never met her."   
  
"Oh, you can say." He now sounded amused, in his eyes the suspicion was now replaced with a sheer amusement. "Let me assist you. You will have heard rumours of the queen?" I nodded. "Do you believe them?" When I said nothing he smiled. "We are in private, it will not leave this room and so it is not treason. Do you believe them?" I shook my head. "More's the pity." His voice trailed off before he remembered what we were discussing. "Tell me, you are married, what would your wife stand to gain with your death?"  
  
"My wealth and lands."   
  
"What would she stand to gain in your death if you were to have a son and heir?"  
  
"A pension mayhap, somewhere to live but-"  
  
"Little else." I nodded. "So the queen stands to inherit much less do you not think? Her son would inherit the crown, but she well knows a child king, a king little more than an infant would be a disaster. You may not agree, it seems you thought King Henry a respectable ruler-"  
  
"A man of peace. He would not harm a fly." My tone was cold. I saw his eyes change, the amusement returned, though behind it lay something sinister.   
  
"Indeed, though his wife was a tyrant who cared little for England and only for herself. You may not recall, but I do. I recall how that infant king grew to be incompetent. Queen Elizabeth knows that no good can come from a child king. So why would she kill her husband? She is more powerful with him for certes." When I said nothing he leaned forward a little, the smile now gone from his face. "I do not like the woman I call Queen, but I am loyal to Edward and I believe in his judgements. More importantly, I believe that should the Queen wish him dead, she could have had him choke in his sleep. She would not, could not develop such an elaborate plan without gaining someone's attention. Whilst Thomas Grey may hold the title Marquess of Dorset, he is a foolish boy, and he is not trusted with the authority bequeathed to a Marquess. He could not employ so many men under Gloucester's nose and not be caught and stopped in his tracks." He flexed his hand, leaning back, he held the back of his head in his hands. "Grey is the husband to my step daughter. I have spoken with him on the matter, I can assure you he is not involved. Have I convinced you that Clarence may indeed be wrong?"  
  
I nodded.   
  
"Then what are your thoughts? Come man, you must have them."  
  
"I do not know who would have a vested interest in-"  
  
"Many people have an interest in killing the King of England sir. Your brtothers Edmund and Henry for example. Jasper Tudor, though he is in France, there is no shortage of men who could do it. My question is, who would gain the most from his demise. Some may desire it, though would lose much, some would desire it and gain much." He paused, thoughts visible in his face. "Some would desire and it and would think they would gain from it, they are most dangerous I would say." 

I saw from the change of his expression that he had his suspicions. Whatever he thought, he swallowed them and turned his attention back to me. Although his lips were pursed, he did not speak as the door opened without warning. I followed his direction as he stood so quickly I thought he might fall. "Will, Monseour de'Beaufou." King Edward smiled to Hastings, raising an eyebrow as he looked to me. "Is all well Will?"  
  
"Of course, we were just discussing the matter of the incident which happened in York."  
  
"An inconvenience, I am sure you will sort it?" He looked to me as he spoke.   
  
"Of course your grace." I bowed as I spoke, did not expect his whoop of laughter.   
  
"Do not put your back out for me. Rise up. Will, leave the good fellow to his job. My brother George I am sure will manage it."   
  
"I was only looking for your best interest Edward, I simply wanted to know where his deliberations with Clarence had taken him." Lord Hastings offered me a sideways glance.   
  
"It sounded much like interference to me Will, now we must be away. Richard and I have a hunting trip planned. I assume you will be joining us?" Both men looked to me. I shook my head, ready to speak my refusal. "Come man, I do insist."  
  
"Master Laurent is busy here Ned." Lord Hastings spoke, resting a hand on our King's arm. "He has need to talk to George, they wish to resolve the issue with haste." 

 

***  
  
I did discuss the issue with George of Clarence. He did not seem willing to budge, nor did he seem in good humour. His irritation seemed to stem from his exclusion from the hunting trip his brothers had arranged.  When the hunting trip returned, it took little more than a second for Sir Francis to pull me aside. "I hear you met with Lord Hastings. What were his thoughts?"   
  
"That it was not the Marquess." 

He exhaled. "Did he say his thoughts on who it may be?" I shook my head. Sir Francis sighed, looking back to the retinue as they began to file into the castle. His body language seemed to change as Duke Richard entered, Lord Hastings followed with King Edward, limping badly at his side. Sir Francis was tense as he regarded them with eyes seemingly cold.   
  
"Is all well Sir Francis?"   
  
"Pardon? Yes, yes." He shook his head, dismissing me as his eyes met Lord Hastings. Between these two men I saw a distrust, bordering dislike. This only seemed to strengthen as Sir Francis approached the main retinue. Lord Hastings stepped in front of his master, blocking access to the King as he approached. "Your Grace I-" His words went quiet in their exchange.   
  


It was several minutes before Lord Hastings walked toward me, his hand grabbing my arm as he pulled me toward a small alcove. He pushed me in first, looking around before he spoke. I saw in his eyes an anger which had not been there that morning, a suspicion deep within them. "Sir Francis, what do you know of him?"   
  
"I-"  
  
"Tell me, I will shake the truth from you if you do not."   
  
"He is Duke Richard's friend."   
  
"Friend from where?"  
  
"I do not know." 

"Find out."   
  
"My lord I am not a spy-" I winced as my back hit the bricks.   
  
"I did not ask you to be a spy, I demand it." He stepped away, running a hand through his hair as he doffed his cap, looking back toward the now dispersing retinue. Duke Richard still stood beside King Edward, both laughed. Lord Hastings winced, seemingly uncomfortable. He muttered to himself as he looked back to me. "I do not trust him."  
  
"Sir Francis?" He did not answer me as he returned to King Edward, his smile was far from sincere as he laughed at the joke Sir Francis must have said. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just sort of took this wherever my hands and bran made me go. Sorry if it rubbish XD

Lord Hastings did not trust Sir Francis, and in honesty, I could not say I blamed him. Since we had met at Micklegate Bar there had been something about him. Something which to me reeked of deviance. To accuse him however was surely to accuse the Duke of Gloucester, a game more daring than to accuse Thomas Grey. Lord Hastings had not voiced his concerns to the King, and Sir Francis was still in the innermost circles of the royal visit. I could not help but think that something was amiss. Clarence had once again summoned me to his chambers, an order which had changed. I now made my way toward the Great Hall and into the antechamber George had adopted for the day. I bowed gently as I entered his presence, taking in the room. Unlike the relative simplicity of Hastings' office, Clarence had this room finely dressed, so finely indeed that it did not become the relative desertion I had observed at Sheriff Hutton. All knew that the Duke of Gloucester did favour his home at Middleham, such neglect had begun to show in the walls of this stronghold. This room however was different, magnificent tapestries hung from the walls, candles brought them to life as they flickered in the fading light. The central table was covered with cloth, elaborate displayed of fruit at its center, with wine enough to kill a horse ready for the offering. Clarence of course did not disappoint. The slur in his voice was no longer faint. His words were almost illegible as he mumbled. "Laurent. Come." He pointed to a chair. "Sit."   
  
I obeyed, silent as a mouse as he gestured to the fruit, when I shook my head he reached for the wine. Without asking he filled a cup, passing it to me seconds before he refilled his own with shaking hands. "Is your Grace well."   
  
"I would be." He stopped speaking for a moment, his hand moving to support his head in a gesture vacant to me. His reasons only becoming apparent as he swayed slightly in his chair. He gulped, closing his eyes before he continued. "Except Edward, that is King Edward, my brother, he is not pleased that this issue-' He gestured between us, as though the issue was tangible between us. "Has not been resolved." He leaned forward, taking his voice to a whisper. "See, he has moods that change as fast as the Yorkshire weather." He laughed at his own joke. His laughter stopped at the sound of a door opening, as I looked my eyes fell on Sir Francis as he entered the chamber almost silently. "I hope you do not mind." Clarence's voice had changed, he sounded almost sober as he extended a hand offering Francis the seat opposite me. "I have invited Sir Francis to join our discussions." His voice was a whisper again when he next spoke, as though I were the only one who might hear. "See, this is another point of my brother's intelligence. He thinks Richard would do well to learn from the experience of his elders. That he should observe, however, my brother Gloucester cannot attend this meeting tonight. Sir Francis has kindly agreed to feedback anything that may be useful."  
  
The glance I shared with the man opposite me may have been the only gesture on which we agreed upon - That Clarence was in no condition to be hosting this meeting here tonight. 

"Your Grace." His voice was gentle, almost respectful as Francis looked to the Duke. "You may both be pleased to know that the king is well after his accident on the hunt."   
  
"I did not know of an accident." George did not sound concerned. "Was it quite awful?" His tone almost nonchalant, uncaring, cold and empty. In opposition, his eyes held the slightest glimmer of hope. A hope I knew that did not stem from wishing, preying his brother would be well.   
  
"He slipped from the saddle." Sir Francis said quietly. "He was dismounting, his boots must have been wet or he was not paying attention. I cannot say." 

"A most unfortunate accident, one that will not kill him." The Duke offered numbly, gulping his wine too eagerly. "Unlike the matter we must discuss."   
  
Sir Francis nodded, turning his attention to me. "Have your deliberations taken you far?" He did not make hint as to whom I had spoken, he gave little more than an interest away from his words. I could see in his eyes the burning hatred of whatever had passed between he and Lord Hastings that afternoon. I knew then that the cause of the Lord Chamberlain's outburst may have been settled in the events of that afternoon. Sir Francis did not need to plead his innocence, doubtless he had already discussed such with Gloucester rather convincingly. Convincingly enough that no matter Hastings' doubts, Lovell would remain untouchable - at least for now. I knew however from his tension that he was as unhappy as I to be discussing the matter.   
  
"They have taken me to believe that the Marquess of Dorset had little to do with this."   
  
Clarence's face changed in an instant. His hand slipped, or perhaps it did not, and wine flowed over the table as metal crashed against wood. "What." He breathed heavily. "Made you come to such a conclusion? Or rather, whom?" 

"It simply does not make sense." I spoke quietly, though my heart thundered in my chest, I mustered my strength to keep the calmness within my voice. I would not show my fear, I would not show weakness in my display of knowledge that as fast as I spoke, either man could dispatch me from this life. My glance to Lovell confirmed that he detected my fear. He said nothing, though a hint of a smile lifted the edges of his lips. He stifled it well, giving nothing to Clarence as the Duke silently fumed. "Dorset is the King's stepson, the Queen's son. He would gain nothing by inheritance if he was to kill the king."  
  
" _He_ would gain influence over his half brother, when he would be crowned king." Clarence spat.   
  
"Is it not the Queen who would gain such influence?" My tone was calm, questionning.   
  
" _He_ would influence his mother, she is just a weak woman, with a weak will. He would surely exploit it and my nephew would have little power to end that." 

"From what I hear, the Marquess has the intelligence of a child himself." Francis bit his lip, biting back his amusement. "Forgive my boldness your grace. I can only say what I know. As I understand it, the Marquess is a simpleton, the power comes from the Queen and she-"  
  
"She has Edward's balls in her hand." George muttered. I smiled.   
  
"That is indeed what I have heard. So, it is  _she_ and not the Marquess who would benefit from the King's death."  
  
Clarence seemed to think on this for a second, nodding. "She cannot raise men enough to carry her plans to their end."   
  
"Queen's have raised armies before, if I recall." I took the risk, seeing Clarence sit tensely in his chair, Lovell followed. "Where they have not, they have certainly had schemes. Could she not put fox glove in her husband's wine? Smother him whilst he slept? Order glass be crushed into his food?" I saw both men's acknowledgment. "Why would she then go to the effort of employing men in York under the banner of her son? She would not. For that would so surely trace back to her, as much as my previous suggestions which you both acknowledged. Why would she do the complex when the simple would suffice, and would mask her guilt much more. No, she would not kill him. Not if as you say, she has control over him. He is a more powerful asset alive than his son would ever be."   
  
"So you suggest?" Sir Francis leaned back, his arms folded across his chest.   
  
"That whoever is behind this wants us to  _suspect_ the Queen to be behind this."  
  
"I had worked out as much myself." Sir Francis said, his tone one of a man lacking interest. "What we all want to know is  _who_ that person is. For they are surely responsible for the attacks in York and the murder of that poor boy."   
  
"If only I knew, I am sure we could all rest easier."  
  
"Least of all the King, who I hear complains the my lord Gloucester that he cannot sleep, for he is fearful assassins will attempt to kill him whilst he does. He does not trust those most loyal to him, much less those distant allies." Sir Francis sounded irritated, not concerned.

"If you wish to know, I do not blame him for his suspicions. All did seem keen for the solution to lay in the hands of Thomas Grey."  
  
"So we are all suspects?" Sir Francis did not sound pleased, nor did Clarence as within a second, we were both cast into the Great Hall. 


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning I had decided to walk, no where in particular. I had a desperate need to be away from the confines of the castle, and more importantly, away from the politics my new life had thrust upon me. That however was a plan of ambition, and one which was interrupted within the hour. I had heard hurried footsteps behind me, then within a minute, pain seared through my back as Lord Hastings thrust me against the wall. "What did you say to him?" His words were an aggressive whisper. I did not think, before I could stop myself, my hands had circled his wrists and were bending them away from me. Releasing his hold of me. Before I spoke however I took in the man before me. His eyes were circled red, the type of a look worn by a man who had not slept. His cheek showed the starts of a bruise and his hands were shaking. That did not stop the irritation showing on his face. "Lovell, what did you say to him?"  
  
"I-" He did not let me speak as he pushed me back, flat against the wall.   
  
"He did not confront me. No, he did not say a word to me. Instead, he told Richard of Gloucester of your meeting last night, the one with Clarence. Gloucester now seems to believe you think him simple, that somehow he is to blame and he was right furious when he awoke the King this morning. Not three hours after we had managed to get him to sleep. So as you can imagine, I must think that you said something."  
  
"Did he do that to you?" Lord Hastings tensed as I regarded his damaged cheek.   
  
"That, does not concern you." He stepped away, turning his back to me for only a moment. When he faced me once more, his eyes were hard, unforgiving. "His Grace has tendencies toward irritation. As do all men when they have not slept. You have not answered my question, what did you say to Francis Lovell?"  
  
"I voiced an opinion to the Duke of Clarence that it was not Thomas Grey who is behind the attacks." Hastings shrugged, as though this were as common knowledge of Clarence as it was to he himself. "His Grace the Duke did not like this, he questioned me and so, I said that any man could be responsible-"  
  
"You said that?" His tone was clipped, irritated. I nodded. "So that is what Gloucester will have fed back to King Edward, and I, and you, and Clarence look  _incompetent."_ He did not comment, though he saw my perplexed expression. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he regained control of his emotions. "King Edward is no fool, he knows I have my means and he surely trusts I have someone on the inside, that I would know and would have control over what Clarence is doing, and so, when you so publicly suggest that any man may be behind this, in front not only of the Duke of Clarence, but of Gloucesters most trusted companion, then forgive him if he does not think that mayhap you accuse those he should trust."   
  
"My Lord, I know you do not trust them-"  
  
"It does not matter to Edward whom I trust!" His shout did not go unnoticed, men began to look, stopping their tasks to bring attention to the Lord Chamberlain. Cursing beneath his breath he grabbed my collar, dragging me around the corner and into an outbuilding. He slammed the door shut. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "You do not understand, Edward and Richard are the closest of brothers. This whole affair has been a shambles, I do not think Gloucester has healed his pride that George has been given the lead on an issue so important. I cannot blame him for that. Clarence is a scoundrel, do not expect your conversations to remain secret from anyone, least of all Edward. Take care what you say to him. It is not like Gloucester to confront his brother and the King on this matter. It is almost unheard of, and on that alone it turns heads. People are not ignorant of what passed in the royal chambers this morning and already it is all the talk among the courtiers, doubtless among Gloucester's men also. People are taking sides, they are dividing themselves and they are taking bets. They think I do not know they gamble on the fortunes of the king, and their own fortune will hold out, it will not do to have half the nobles of England beheaded, that would cause anarchy. Edward is not happy, with you, with me, with Clarence or Gloucester, and Gloucester and thus Francis will not be happy with you. Saddle up tight and be sure you can ride the storm."   
  
He was about to turn away from me, looking back only when he heard me step forward. "My lord, what passed between you and Sir Francis after the hunt? You seemed to guard the King against him. What happened that I am unaware of? The King was hurt."  
  
"He slipped from the saddle, that is what I was told." He shook his head in disbelief. "I did not see for I was too far back, Edward wished to ride alongside his brother, Richard wanted Francis alongside them. The next I know Edward is limping. His complaints were few, only he called upon his physician late last night. I have never seen him in such pain. I do not believe he slipped from the saddle-"  
  
"It is easy done my lord."  
  
"And I have known Edward most of his life. Since he was no taller than my knee. He has never slipped from the saddle and he rides second to none. Sir Francis made a jest at the King's expense upon our return. Of course to Edward it is all in good humour."  
  
"If my brother finds it to be in good humour, surely my Lord Hastings, you should agree?" Duke Richard's voice cut through the air like a knife. The icy undertone clear as he gazed upon us. His entrance had been silent, though we should not have been surprised. Our discussion in the courtyard surely reached his attention. "Hastings, leave us." He hesitated, looking between the Duke and I. "Now!" Hastings offered a curt bow, abandoning his position. Gloucester waited until we were alone, with the door closed before he spoke. "Where did you go at dawn?"  
  
"I needed a walk your grace."  
  
"Are the gardens not enough to suffice your need to walk?"  
  
"Yes your grace, I simply, I needed a moment away from the politics. I am sure you are aware I am not used to this?" He nodded with an absence of sincerity. 

"I said I wanted this issue resolved in a timely manner. When I learnt it could not be, I adjusted to that. Yet there has been insult after insult done to my name. First you have me believe the matter resolved, and the culprets brought to justice. Then my brother escapes from death by little more than a hair. Then my brother George replaces me in this. I could live with all of this and forgive. It is a minor shame which I would live down. Yet you tell George your suspicions which are nothing more than musings. Than thoughts which crossed your mind, planted there and no doubt I know by who. We are all suspects I hear. Francis and me included? I know that my Lord Hastings does not much like me, he hates Francis-"

"I sense you do not like him either." He did not respond, swallowing my nerves I continued. "Might I remind Your Grace that _you_ made the decision to accuse Thomas Grey, I only gave you the facts. It was I myself who disproved such theory, along with the help of my lord Hastings. Sir Francis was amongst those who did not want me to drop the Marquess from my suspicions. Nor it seems did you."  
  
"Francis has no investment or interest in this. He does not much care if you accuse George, or the Queen or Edward himself of this. He cares you accuse the _right_ person. Do you accuse me of treason? If so I would have you say it to me now."  
  
"I say that every man, woman and child is suspect until I know who is responsible." 

Gloucester nodded, anger hiding at the back of his eyes. I saw the energy it took to keep it level, to stop it surging through him, making his thoughts irrational. "Take a care when you speak to Lord Hastings, he seems to not know the boundaries between innocence and guilt, my brother Edward is growing aware of that. I would hate for you to find yourself on the wrong side of the wall when the gates close. If that did happen, then you may find yourself in deep trouble. You may find yourself alongside Hastings when he is hung, drawn and quartered." His voice was a whisper, dropped I knew for the advancing footsteps outside. "Drop Francis from your suspicions, else you should accuse me too."   
  
When the door opened again it was only to allow Gloucester his leave. 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

I did not go so far as to accuse Gloucester of treason. My thoughts however I kept to myself. That was until Hastings approached me two days after my conversation with the duke. His approach was furtive, he stood beside me as I watched the activities out of the window. King Edward practiced archery, Richard beside him as the king taught a small child to hold the bow. As the Lord Chamberlain spoke, his words interrupting the silence, I jumped. "He does well to hide it." I knew of whom he spoke, his eyes fixed upon the king. "He does not feel safe."

"To me it does not look like he is aware of the danger you suspect my Lord. His limp too seems to have much improved."

"You are not a physician." He muttered, sternly. "I am the kings closest friend, I know more of him than you could think to imagine, that Gloucester would recognise or George could fathom. I know more of Edward than his own wife or mother does. I would make it my business to know if he sneezed in the night. I would well know when he is worried." I shrugged, not prepared to say another word as I watched the child shoot the arrow. "You see that boy? That is Gloucester's lad. Too young to fire an arrow but then... Ned does humour him, for he is Richard's son. So much like Richard in our kings eyes." His disapproval was audible, to an extent I could not understand. "Clarence has a son, younger than that boy out there. His development is slow I dare say it, he is a simple child, perhaps it is for that which Ned does treat the boy as less, or perhaps it is his youth. It does not stop George feeling thwarted. It does not stop George believing that there has ever been more love for Richard in Ned' s heart. George is a jealous boy, and our king makes it obvious." Hastings shook his head in disapproval.

"There is no sin in a fondness for one's nephew. I am sure Clarence cannot begrudge the child the attention." Hastings scoffed, rolled his eyes. "He surely will know that it is because his son is younger that the king neglects him."

"You clearly do not know Clarence in the slightest. A pity. I thought you a better judge of character."

I sighed. "Gloucester is the kings brother, I do not think we have cause to suspect him." I brought to conversation back to the matter of concern. "I certainly do not think we have cause to suspect the boy. Lest you think he may turn and shoot the king in the throat?" My jest I saw was fast killed, as I looked to Lord Hastings, the idea was more than a possibility in his eyes. He tensed, his eyes closing momentarily, as though to rid himself of the image.

"The child, he is the son of Lady Anne Neville." He said coldly as his eyes reopened.

"The Duchess of Gloucester, yes."

"She was the daughter of the earl of Warwick. As it happens I found what you could not. Richard met Francis at Middleham, in the household of Warwick."

"I believe that perhaps I miss the significance." He sighed, looking to me in perplexed disbelief.

"For truth?" He exhaled sharply as I nodded. "Warwick nay have been the kings cousin, but he was undoubtedly a traitor. All the Nevilles were." He whispered the next word under his breath. "Are." He continued quickly, not giving me a moment to interrupt. "Kindred means nothing for loyalty, Warwick we once did believe so loyal. We were proven naive, I will not make such a mistake again, for then too Edwards life was endangered, because of that mistake. Only Warwick was so close to taking it, do you hear me when I say it cannot get that far?" I nodded, resting a hand on his bicep for comfort as I saw his anxiety. He sighed deeply, his eyes closing so long I thought he may have slept stood up. "Dickon of Gloucester may not be a viable suspect, Anne Neville, Francis Lovell? They are logical suspects. They both has access to that boy, it would not be hard to brainwash his innocent mind."

The voice of Sir Francis made us both jump. "If loyalty is no defence my Lord, then must I not suspect you also? For is it not you who spends much time with his grace? Is it not you who the court call more loyal to King Edward than even his brother? Is it not you who travelled with the king from London? Who knew the king would come to York, likely too you knew when. See, I have been thinking." Sir Francis seemed not to care for the look of fury on Hastings' face. He did not care that he accused a man more powerful, more experienced, than he. He challenged the man who was closest to the king of England; and somehow it stuck. "Why the look? The denial?"

"Why would I wait till York to kill him?"

"To push the blame to Gloucester."

Hastings sighed. "I love Edward."

"Yes." Doubt inflected.every word. "So loyal and loving that it is that you drink him, and whore him into an early grave."

"That is the work of Thomas Grey."

"Yet he is beyond suspicion." Sir Francis sounded bored. The passion momentarily gone from his voice. "I do not know Grey, I know you. Do not deny that you do not endorse the kings gluttony and his, obsessive bed sport."

"Child, you know nothing of court life. Nothing of the king. That is why you thought your thwarted truth plausible. The king slipped from his saddle?" Sir Francis shrugged, uncaring. This was a man I could say either callously unphased that he was suspected of treason, cockily confident in the truth of his accusations; else he was guilty of treason. My issue was, I could not determine which. Never had I seen a man so calm, not even when asked how he would most like to break his morning fast. Lovell had the expression of a man asked nothing more complex than the weather, not to account to the welfare of the King of England. "Pah! Gloucester well knows he would not do such."

"Gloucester well knows he has no cause to suspect me." Francis stepped forward, his voice dangerously low when he next spoke. "However, he does have cause not to suspect you. As it is he, not you William, not Clarence, but Gloucester who is so titled the constable of England. I would see that as much more of a threat than your mere... suggestions, your assumptions and guesses. The king slipped, he limped, he is very much alive and he-"

Sir Francis' words ended as the boy entered the hall. "My Lord Hastings." All eyes were on the young man. "It is about the king." We looked through the window to see the king bent at the waist, Gloucester's hand upon his back as he vomited.

No matter the emergency, nothing I thought would stop the look of hatred offered between these men before they ran toward the courtyard. I did not move for a moment as I recalled the look which passed our Lord Chamberlains face. If nothing else, this was confirmation of Lovell's guilt.

A stomach upset would sign the death warrant for one of the most powerful men in England? What had this become?

****

When I arrived in the courtyard, there was an air of panic in all but the King himself and Gloucester beside him. "For Christ's sake." Irritation was weaved in each word. King Edward brushed off Duke Richard's hand, wiping his mouth on the handkerchief in his hand. "Will you cease your fussing? I am not a child." He hissed, pushing past his Chamberlain, and Francis behind him.

"Ned I would insist-" Lord Hastings fell silent as our sovereign glowered at him.

"What do you insist Will?" The king sounded exhausted. "That you are a physician as well as Chamberlain? Do your talents end, man?" For the first instant since I had met him, Hastings lips were parted in speechless apprehension. "It is a minor imposition. Too much excitement perhaps, or mayhap the stress you seem to inflict upon me. Why must you suspect poison? Why must you distrust those I have no reason, no desire, to suspect? Do you think my judgements sound? Do you doubt me Will?"

"No your grace, cept-"

"Damnation William! I tire of your incompetence! In truth it has become quite irksome, and you tread perilously close to disfavour."

"Your Grace, please." I heard the emotion in Lord Hastings voice. The Chamberlain unconsciously stroked the bruise on his cheek as he spoke. A flash of guilt crossed our sovereigns face. I stepped back, shrinking into the shadows as I did not want to be, knew I should not be seen. King Edward I knew had seen me, his eyes flashed with anger before an eerie calm settled. He glanced to Hastings, offering a gesture he should continue. All eyes were fixed upon the Chamberlain. "Please agree for me to consult a physician of the royal body."

"I do not much care, do as you please. I will not refuse to.humour you." The king said nothing more, he retreated with Gloucester to his chambers. I heard Hastings snicker as the door slammed in Sir Francis' face. A smirk short lived as Lovell joined us.

"My lord Hastings, how does it feel to be so tragically out of the kings favour?"

"I will not dignify that with a response." He hissed in reply.

Sir Francis nodded and shrugged. "Dignify this. If in your eyes I am guilty for my association with Warwick, and with the duchess of Gloucester, do you not too accuse the duke?" He smirked softly. "I did not think you would have the gall, and I was not wrong. For whilst Duchess Anne may be Warwick's daughter, she is Richards wife, to whom do you think her loyalties are? Clarence too wed Warwick's daughter Isabelle. Do you suspect him? Or is indeed accusing a royal Duke of treason simply too much for you?" Hastings did not response, only snickered. "And if I am guilty, for my childhood and my marriage, should we not too suspect you? For is your wife not Catherine Neville? The sister of two attained traitors? More dangerous I would reckon as none do see her."

Hastings said nothing as he walked away. He did not need to. No matter how his actions sought to deny it, no matter how he tried to control his thoughts. I had learnt to know him enough to know the suspicion did not leave his mind.

I do not know how he would have reacted when not minutes later, George of Clarence was admitted to the kings chambers. Perhaps, much like Sir Francis, the Chamberlains lips may have set into a thin, almost inperceivable line.

Perhaps he would have fallen into an irreparable rage.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Michi for writing this :)
> 
> This chapter is in Richard's P.O.V

 

Ned refused to listen to Hastings.  
  
This should have given me pleasure. This showed that whatever the lord chamberlain might believe of himself, he could not steer my brother at his will, but it did not. This was the one issue on which he should have listened to Hastings: He was not safe.  
  
Ned, however, wanted to hear nothing of it. Instead choosing not to see what was in front of him. In fact, he grew quite angry when Hastings insisted he should not go out anymore, should return to Westminster, to rely on his protection until such a time that he was safe.  
  
Before I got the chance to protest, to point out that whatever he believed, his own protection, such as it was and if it was indeed his plan to offer it, would only help Ned to an early grave, and that returning to the south was the last he should do, my brother himself exploded: “I will not hear another word of this, Will!“, he shouted, and I had the satisfaction of watching Hastings recoil. “None of you will utter another word of this!“ I remained silent, wondering if Hastings would dare protest, but he did not, only eyed Ned warily. Ned looked around himself, his eyes wandering from me to Hastings, then to the Beaufort bastard, still lurking in the corner. “Is that understood?“, he growled, and when we all nodded like chastised children, his face cleared up. “Good.“  
  
I saw Hastings open his mouth, but Ned did not give him the chance to speak whatever it was he wanted to say. Instead, he turned to me, and though he tried to smile, his expression was more of a grimace. “Say, Dickon“, he said, in a falsely cheerful voice that might have fooled Beaufort, but neither Hastings nor me believed. “You and young Francis have been telling me about the marvels of York Minster for days now. I think it would be a good idea if you were to lead me there to show me.“  
  
“I don`t think –“, Hastings began, but though I thought that whatever objection he wanted to state, it was probably sensible, I did not let him finish. The last that was needed now was Ned working himself into a rage, and so I nodded. “I will send for Francis“, I said. “I am sure he will be as glad to show you as I am.“  
  
I thought I heard the insolent Beaufort brat mutter something as I said that, and had not Ned been present and just made it very clear he wanted no more quarrel, I would have showed him just exactly what I thought of his impertinence, but as it was, I had to content myself with scowling at him before exiting the chamber.  
  
Hastings and Beaufort stayed inside it, which made me feel rather uneasy, but there was nothing that I could do against it. I would just have to make sure Ned was watched at all times. As I had tried to do ever since he had arrived in York, but quite unforgivably, I had failed several times already.  
  
It seemed like Ned was the only one who was not concerned about this. Even George, who I knew from experience, had a similar mindset to Ned when it came to ignoring matters he did not want to acknowledge, had been nervous the last few days. As for me, I could barely sleep for worry. What would happen if the next assassin succeeded?  
  
After the last attempt, I had arranged the precaution that Ned be watched at all times, by men I trusted implicitly. Though this seemed to have been successful insofar as there had been no new attempt, neither of them had caught anyone behaving strangely and suspect. Anyone to catch and question.

I believed that it had to prey on Ned`s mind, but as far as I could tell, the rift between Hastings and me bothered him more than the fact that someone had repeatedly tried to kill him, and I thought he must be hiding his real feelings. Usually, I could read him pretty well, but now I no longer knew what was going on inside his head. Now, I no longer had even an idea.  
  
I was relieved when Francis finally joined us in front of our lodgings, and we could set off towards the Minster. It was a risky undertaking, of course, but better to get it over with than to wait for too long and not only give myself more time to worry, but also to give whoever it was who was trying to kill Ned a chance to plan his next attempt in more detail. The only advantage we had at this moment was that this venture to the Minster was a spontaneous one, so that no planning could have possibly gone into an ambush.  
  
Still, I could not help but be nervous when he finally set off, and I could see that Francis was, as well, even though he tried his best to be cheerful, to answer to the jests Ned put to him, perhaps because he had not been present at our gathering and so could pretend not to know what was going on. At least, that was how Ned addressed him, and Francis responded in kind, though he was nowhere near as witty as I was used from him.  
  
He looked rather tired in any case, I thought, as if he had just been woken up. Perhaps he had been; Francis being one of the few men I would unhesitatingly trust not only with my own life but with that of my son as well, I had employed him as well in my plan to keep a watch on Ned, and I knew he had hardly slept for days.  
  
And this miscreant Beaufort had the gall to suggest he was not loyal, might in fact even be complicit in the plot to take my brother`s life! I knew for a fact Francis was a damn sight more loyal than him.  
  
The situation was starting to get to me. If the culprit was not soon caught, I would go as crazy as old Henry of Lancaster had purportedly been. Old Henry of Lancaster, who Beaufort had supported.  
  
This was the wrong thought to have, I told myself sternly, as I heard Ned and Francis chatter next to me, both trying and failing to sound as if they had not a care in the world. This very city had once supported old Henry of Lancaster, and yet they now greeted us with cheers. Crowds turned up to cheer, and some even to try and touch Ned.  
  
Ned smiled at that, seemed sincere, but I would rather they would not. Crowds could also be dangerous, even though, as I scanned them, they seemed to consist mainly of delighted upstanding men and women. One woman was holding out her baby, a delightful redfaced imp, to be kissed by Ned, and my brother was happy to oblige.  
  
For a moment, I almost allowed myself a smile. Perhaps I was being unnecessarily tense. Perhaps this was one day that would bring no further worries. Ned was waving cheerfully at the woman whose child he had caressed, and at that, I did smile. This was so typical of Ned I could not help myself. Trust him to think only of the pretty mother even under such circumstances, when he should know he should rather move on. His smile was working its usual charm as well, and the woman smiled back, and I knew that she was hoping that like her child before her, she would get a kiss from Ned.  
  
I gave her a scowl, hoping it would do enough to scare her away, take the joy from the undertaking for her. As soon as the traitor after Ned`s life was caught, he could give as many kisses to as many women as he wished, not that he would let me stop him, but right at the moment it was beyond foolish to stop for a dalliance –  
  
It was that thought, that stupid, stupid thought, that distracted me for the fraction of a moment. Distracted me long enough to let my gaze dwell on the woman with the baby and pay no attention to Ned, but that could have sufficed. My stupidity in thinking that Ned`s favourite vice would be his downfall after all could have sufficed to cost him his life. It would have, had not Francis paid attention where neither Ned nor I did.  
It was his hectical scream of: “Your grace!“ that finally alerted me to the danger and made me spin around, finally away from mother and child, but it would have been too late. By the time I saw the black-clad figure, he was too close for me to do anything but stare like an imbecile, and had only I been there, Ned would have been dead.

For one terrible moment, I was convinced that my brother was dead, and the world seemed to slow down as I saw the cloaked man unsheathe a dagger as he ran at him. Never would I forget this moment, as my brother and king and me stood entirely helpless, unmoving until I hear Francis shout again, panicked, and then hurtle into Ned.  
  
Francis was not a tall man, but of average built, and had Ned been forewarned, he could have never sent him toppling. As it was, however, Ned was later to say it was half shock and half Francis`s entire weight shoved against him that made him lose his balance and trip at the last moment, and the dagger aimed at him missed him.  
  
It did not miss Francis, who stood where Ned had been standing but a moment before, and his shout of pain somehow seemed to work to finally cut through my daze. With a jump, I was by his side, even as Ned himself shot past me, faster than I would have thought him still able. Sparing neither me nor Francis a glance, he ran after the fleeing would-be assassin, leaving us staring after him.  
  
The man had to know he ran for his life, but it was in less time than one needs to aim an arrow that Ned had caught up with him. I would have followed him, had not Francis`s left hand closed around my wrist. As I turned to look at him, I was shocked to see him entirely ashed, his face covered in sweat. “Long live the king“, he gasped, before his eyes closed and he collapsed against me. Only then, through the screaming of the Yorkers around me, my brother`s cursing only a few steps away as he held down the struggling traitor, did I notice the blood all down his right arm, coming from a wound in its upper part where the dagger the man had thrown was still protruding, Hastings` insignia on the hilt.

***

I do not remember much of the journey back to our lodgings. Ned was later to tell me I barked orders and looked so furious even he hardly dared approach me.

He was still in the mood for making jokes even then, even when his life had so obviously been in danger yet again, and Francis lay unconscious and injured.

It was just as well our mother instilled respect for those above you in station in us from our very earliest days, or I might have done something I regretted very much later. Like shaking some damn sense into Ned.

It was only this nearly all-consuming emotion of both worry and fury I recalled later when trying to think what happened immediately after the attack. My surroundings did not matter to me at all, and by the time I had regained some control over myself, Ned and me were alone in a chamber in our lodgings.

I have no apology to offer for such a loss of control as I experienced in those moments, no excuse to make. It must have been the knowledge that the traitor was so close to Ned that, after days of barely sleeping, induced a spell of temporary, violent, imbalance of my humours. But it is a poor explanation, and I do regret how I behaved in those moments while I did not know what would happen next, and what would happen to Francis. I do regret it, though Ned took my screaming in his stride. In fact, he would later also joke about that, saying I had a true Plantagenets` temper.

Perhaps he was right about that - the fate of St. Thomas Becket alone bears evidence to the temper of our forebears - but at that moment, such contemplations were far from me. I only know I cursed everyone but Francis who had ever gone on this cursed trip to the Minster, everyone who had ever had access to the king, and it was only when a thoroughly frightened messenger from Hobbes came to tell us that Francis`s wound, while painful, would most likely not have any lasting consequences, that I did calm down enough to be able to speak in coherent sentences again. Still, it was Ned who thanked the man, and when I spoke again it was in a clipped voice I barely recognised as my own: “It was not him.”

Ned raised his eyebrows at me, but I ignored him. I was more thinking aloud than speaking to him. “Not Hastings. He is not that much of an idiot.”

At that, my brother interrupted me, and despite my outburst earlier, now was the first time he sounded somewhat angry. “Of course he was not, Dickon”, he said, sharply. “May I remind you that he is not only my lord chamberlain, but also my friend?”

At any other time, I would have taken due notice of the warning, but right at that moment, I was beyond such cares. “And yet, Francis has been injured by a dagger with his insignia”, I snarled. “You will forgive me if I at least think of the possibility it might have been him before excluding him from the list of suspects.”

Ned`s face flushed slightly at that, and only then did I realise I might have gone too far. But he did not repeat the warning. Instead, he nodded curtly, before saying: “I trust him completely. And even if I did not, I know Will. He would not be enough of an idiot to use his own dagger. If Will wanted me dead, I would be dead now, and he would be able to wash his hands clean of any involvement.”

This was so close to my own reasoning that I could only nod. Which was perhaps for the best, for it seemed to calm Ned somewhat to have his opinion agreed to.

I thought he might want to tell me not to speak any more about this dratted business when he took a deep breath afterwards, as he had done the days before, but he surprised me. Rather than saying that, he asked: “Who do you suspect?”

It was the first, and would be the last, time I ever actually heard him acknowledge the threat and that it could be more than a random commoner`s grudge, and I had to fight with myself not to comment on that. Instead, after a moment of contemplation, I decided that though my suspicion was as yet without evidence, it would do no harm to air it, if only to make Ned a bit more wary.

“Laurent Beaufort”, I said, preparing myself for immediate protest from Ned, that he could possibly be it, that he would have noticed, that Hastings would have noticed, if anything was wrong with him.   
  
But again, he surprised me by simply looking at me. “On what grounds?”, he asked, quite matter-of-factly.

Perhaps it was his calm and serious demeanour, so unexpected, that also helped me get my violent emotions under control, and I was feeling slightly calmer myself when I, after wondering how to phrase it, answered: “His loyalty is doubtful. He has been a respectable citizen of this realm since our cousin was defeated, but he is a Beaufort. I do not trust Beaufort’s more than the Stanley’s, not after all I have learnt over the last weeks. He has been behaving very strangely too. And Francis reported he has been very hostile to him, ever since he learnt his name and that he was close to me.”

Ned frowned at that. “That is certainly strange behaviour”; he mused, and it sounded as if he was actually finding this not only curious but interesting. As if it was a riddle, and I had to again suppress a bout of frustration. Before I could say anything else, Ned interrupted me by saying: “Young Lord Lovell is married to our cousin Anna, is that not right? Very attractive blond little -”

I cleared my throat, unable to believe my ears. I often do admire my brother, for though he likes to act otherwise, he is a brilliant man. At moments like these, however, I could not understand him. His life was in danger, and he mused about the attractiveness of the wife of the man who had just saved it.

“Yes”, I answered, perhaps more sharply than I should have. “He is married to our cousin Anna FitzHugh. Happily, too.”   
  
Ned gave a snort. “That pleases me”, he said drily, but I was not in the mood to acknowledge the jest.   
  
“I fail to see what his marriage has to do with anything”, I snapped, and Ned lifted his hand.   
  
“I am trying to think what motivates Beaufort. The Lovell’s were all Lancastrian, were they not?” Before I could explode again - and I was shortly before doing so - Ned went on. “Yet young Francis is not. He never was, was he? Not even in loyalty to his father as a young boy.”   
  
“He _hated_ his father”, I burst out, angrily, and Ned looked at me, slightly surprised.  
  
“I did not suspect him. I was thinking aloud. Beaufort could have well expected him to be secretly Lancastrian. Like Beaufort himself. To think, the similarities in their situation are striking. Yet, when young Francis turned out to be fundamentally different to him despite this - why else would he have been hostile? I take it he was not as hostile to anyone else?”

“Nobody has reported it to me”, I answered, and Ned nodded.   
  
“I think your suspicion could be right. I will have a very close eye kept on him when I return to London. Sooner or later, he will give himself away and I can have him accused of the treason he committed.”

The words should have calmed me, now that the culprit seemed to have been identified, but I barely heard that. Instead, I had only heard Ned`s plans, and without trying to suppress my horror, I asked: “Return to London?”

“Well, you can hardly say my trip to York was a success, can you?” Ned`s voice had taken its usual, slightly sarcastic, tone. “I know you love it, but I think I will rather leave. London will be better suited for what actions I to take next, too.”

“I am coming along, then”, I answered. The thought of London made me shudder, the thought of having to endure the presence of the queen more so, but there was no other way to definitely defend Ned. “Francis too.”

Ned shrugged. “Suit yourself. There will be no more danger once Beaufort is neutralised.” He actually sounded very confident.

I wished I could share his confidence so wholeheartedly.

 


	21. Chapter 21

The ride to London was slow and my arse ached from too long in the saddle. My thighs objected and my eyes felt heavy. I jerked myself awake, my eyes resting on King Edward riding at the head of our march. Beside him were Richard of Gloucester and Sir Francis, George of Clarence just one row behind. I looked to my left as Lord Hastings sighed, shifting in his saddle. Worry rested heavily on his face. He cleared his throat, looking to me, he tried to smile. "Gloucester had him arm himself before we left on this suicide mission." Irritation stemmed on his lips, his eyes rolled as he elaborated. "Ned." He coughed, correcting his informality more quickly than it had slipped from his mouth. "King Edward, he is armed amongst his royal guard."

"I do not see the problem." I muttered. Surely King Edward was armed at most hours? Surely he, a military man, would himself find comfort from his sword. 

"You would not." He snapped, scoffing. "You do not know him, how could I expect you would know." He bit his lip. "You will remember the warrior king your brother's fought. The man you have yourself opposed." My hands tightened on my reins, bringing my horse to panic. I brought it under control, aided by Hastings' hand reaching for the horse's bridle. "I do not mean to worry you, the past is the past. Let us not shape the future from the past. I simply mean to say, in recent years, Edward has changed. He is no longer the warrior king. He does not walk often armed. He does not do this most especially among his guard. Among a guard of that size. So what message do you think that sends?" He did not give me a chance to answer. "It shows our king to be incompetent. I did not think till now, Gloucester is a fool." 

"He wishes to protect the king." I shrugged.

"Then why does he dismiss me? I am closest to the King. I know him more than even Gloucester. I know his eating, his sleeping, his breathing like it is my own. Yet I am to be at the back of this troop." He sounded bitter, sinking into the saddle, only straightening his back as his horse slacked. 

"My lord, forgive me, but I sense this is more about your wounded pride than-"

"I will not forgive you Beaufourt. Remember who you talk to." He growled, glaring at me with angry eyes. I was silent for several minutes, biting my lip and steadying my hands before I muttered my next words. 

"If I recall my lord, the suggestion was Clarence's that his Grace the King should carry arms." 

He scoffed. "Then I am in no doubt he is incompetent." He did not give me more chance to speak, he read my face as though it was a book. "Clarence has been waiting for his brother to fall, and now he is so keen on his defense? Forgive my cry of hypocrisy."

He glared ahead, his eyes burning into Clarence's back. "Why we must ride to London, I do not know." 

"You do not wish to leave York?" I arched an eyebrow in surprise. 

"Oh, I want to leave York. I do not want to return to London. Yet they would not let me to Edward, would not let me appeal to him to accompany me to Leicester. I cannot be sure to protect him in London." His gaze moved to Sir Francis. "That however is exactly what Lovell wants. He prances beside Gloucester like a loyal bitch. It was nothing to do with loyalty he intervened in York. That was a mild inconvenience-"

"I do not think King Edward or his Grace the Duke do see it that way." I whispered. 

"Edward pretends this is nothing more than a joke. I repeat, you do not know him, an inconvenience is exactly what this is for him. That is why he wishes to leave York." I heard irritation in the Chamberlain's voice. "Gloucester, now he thinks I am behind it. At least he thinks I am simple enough to be naive enough for me to be implicated. That however does not make my point redundant. Do you not think it convenient that Lovell intervened at just the right moment? At best, it was acting, at worst? It was staged. If it was staged, then I do not need to point my finger far to know it who is behind this." 

"You might as well accuse Gloucester." 

He did not say a word, he did not need to. The accusation was in his eyes.

***

Westminster Palace, London. 

We had arrived at court in London a little more than an hour before. Already I was being called into the King's presence chamber. Despite my presence in the royal chamber, I was surprised as I heard the mumbled snores coming from the bed. Hastings offered me a silent wave, bringing me forward. His eyes were dark and for the first time since I had met him, he reeked strongly of ale. He stifled a belch as he moved, looking back to our snoozing monarch, smiling fondly. "This is the first time he has slept properly since this farce began." In truth, as I looked to King Edward, his huge frame curled surprisingly small under the blankets, he looked younger than his years. He looked like the boy I had heard of so many times. "The issue has not gone away." Hastings was suddenly serious, the fondness now absent from his voice. "It is more alive than ever, and Gloucester does not have his men stationed at every entrance, stood on every wall, watching Edward's every move. This is Edward's world, not Gloucester's. Therefore, everyone is suspect." We were interrupted as King Edward mumbled, rolling he hugged the pillow. "Since Gloucester is occupied setting up his household, and Clarence is doing, well he is doing whatever it is that George does, I was able to speak with Edward. Alone. He told me what happened at York. How Francis stepped up the mark. Quite without good reason, or explanation."  
"I do not see why that bothers you." I shrugged. 

"You do not see?" He almost laughed. "Jesu, are you blind, man?" I crossed myself, bowing my head. "I forget, you're a man of the church. Forgive me?" I waved a hand, as though what should matter did not. "It bothers me because Lovel is Gloucester's man. He is not Edward's, he is not mine. He does not know Edward, he does not love Edward as any more than his King. He loves him for little more than the fact that Gloucester loves him. Why would he save Edward?"

"Out of duty? Out of the love you have said he holds for the Duke." I suggested.

"For spite." Hastings hissed. 

"Spite?" I laughed, lowering it to little more than a chuckle as for a moment King Edward sturred before he slipped back into sleep. "Who would he spite? The King? Gloucester?" I raised an eyebrow, clasping my fingers in my lap. 

"Me." 

"That is preposterous." 

"It is preposterous because you don't like it. Because you do not want to cross Gloucester."

"It is preposterous because it is preposterous." He humphed, like a petulant child. "Have you discussed this with Gloucester?"

"Discussed a freak accident with Gloucester? Implicating his henchman in the plot to kill his brother? You are without senses."

"If you believed Sir Francis to have been false, then you know well I am not. Gloucester wants the man behind this brought to justice, no matter who that is." I thought for a moment, taking a breath. "You said it was a freak accident?"

"What of it?" He was dismissive, reaching for more ale. His words would soon begin to slur. 

"It was not long since you accused Sir Francis Lovell of anything from the negligence of loyalty to blatant manipulation. That is quite a leap to a freak accident, especially one in which Sir Francis happened to save the King's life, not miss and let him be slaughtered before the townspeople of York. I would say it is more a freak accident that a dagger with your own emblem on the hilt was found there." 

"Do you dare accuse me?" His voice was a deadly cold. His eyes pure ice. 

"Can we not leave this gastly affair in York?" KIng Edward's voice was tired, his eyes dim and hooded under low lids. 

"Ned, I simply think we should air on the side of caution." 

"Then I shall." He nodded, raising to his full height. "You need not attend me tonight Will, as for you." He looked at me with a cold regard, one not dissimilar to the one the night we met. "Leave my apartments, if I ever see you in here again, I will have mind to have your head placed on London Bridge." 

I did not need to be told twice as I fled his apartments, Lord Hastings servants ensuring I found my way to my room - at the far side of the Palace.


	22. Chapter 22

Te next evening, I was summoned to the Great Hall by Clarence. It came as some surprise as I entered the room, already filled with several familiar faces. Clarence sat at the table's head, short of donning the crown and being seated on his brother's throne, the Duke had the look and the attitude of a king. Beside him, I saw Lord Hastings, his tired expression failing to mask his irritation - irritation I knew to be caused by Clarence's disregard of etiquette. Opposite sat Duke Richard, his expression cold as I made my entrance; beside him was Sir Francis and the Sir Robert, both their expressions similarly icy. I took my seat beside Lord Hastings, my head bowed in anxiety more than respect. I looked up only as the Duke of Clarence cleared his throat. "My brother could not join us tonight. Of course, the plan had been thus, that since the King has returned to London whole and well, he would entertain with a royal banquet. Alas, the Queen does not think that appropriate, and so they dine alone. For formalities sake, however, I did not think it would do to cancel the banquet completely, thus I have invited you all. Though we still await several guests, I do not think it wholly inappropriate to begin, for this saves time for us to discuss."

"Discuss what?" Hastings muttered shakily, trying to keep the anger from his voice. 

"Come now Sir William, you are an intelligent man. You well know we all do serve a common interest. My brother's welfare."

"While it seems we do share a common interest brother, I think Lord Hastings refers to his lack of acknowledgment that you have ever, or could ever, serve an interest common with anyone but yourself." Gloucester said as nonchalantly as he would report the weather. "I do in fact admire his gallantry on this matter. From my experience, if the topic does not serve the will of George, then the matter does not take much precedence." 

"It takes precedence because it is our brother's life, Dickon."

Gloucester shrugged. For a moment we thought his argument done until his eyes rose, burning. "That is nothing you have not gambled on before brother George. Need I remind you of your deflection to Warwick?"

"A youthful mistake, I was blind to his poison." George hissed. 

"You were blinded by ambition." Hastings corrected, drawing blood as he bit his lip. "An ambition you knew to be wasted when Warwick married Anne Neville to the Lancaster bastard." He continued, his fingernails now digging into his palms. 

"If you look for a man more loyal to Warwick than I, you need look not further than yourself Francis Lovell." Duke George's voice was filled with bitterness; bitterness snapped away as Duke Richard rose to his feet so rapidly the table crushed our legs. 

"Enough! I will not have Francis's loyalty questioned. Not by a single one of you.” His breaths were short, raspy gasps as he tried to calm his anger. “He is right, we must discuss our developments." Duke Richard retook his seat. He directed his next words to me alone. "Given the development in York, which I am sure you are aware of, do you have any more suspects?" There was a false calm in his voice I knew. 

"I know the information I was told. That the King was attacked by a hooded man, that the man was brought to justice but would not talk. Though it seemed he did not need to. Sir Francis took the injury for the king." I looked to his arm, though the wound was covered by his doublet. "The dagger had my Lord Hastings' emblem upon it. That would logically have me suggest that Sir William was behind it." I felt him tense beside me. "However, there is nothing logical about this. Logic would not have the King attacked in front of witnesses, it would not have the King almost, though unsuccessfully, killed by an arrow not minutes away from the Minster. Nothing here is logical." Gloucester nodded I saw, whilst Clarence offered a cocky smirk. "That counts my Lord Hastings out."

"Indeed. I have discussed the matter with the King at great length. He is in agreement. In fact, he did not suspect my Lord Hastings at all. For similar reasons you yourself were able to dismiss Sir Thomas Grey from your suspicions. Lord Hastings could have killed Edward in his sleep. Of course, I was suspicious when Ned took ill with nothing more than a minor stomach complaint, when the Lord Chamberlain suggested it could be poison." Gloucester looked to Lord Hastings. "You did not help yourself there my lord, but you would not be so foolish as to have Edward killed in front of so many people so... carelessly. It would you would know lead back to you." Hastings nodded, his tension leaving his body. Each muscle within me, however contracted painfully as the Duke's attention returned to me. "You have not answered my question however. Do you have suspects?"

"No your grace."

"How convenient." Sir Francis muttered, rubbing his arm unconsciously. He winced as fabric chafed. 

Gloucester held up a hand, silencing Sir Francis. "Let us aid you. The person behind this is clearly of high status. Firstly, what would a peasant, even a servant, have to gain from my brother's untimely death? War, anarchy and chaos. Secondly, it is someone who is of high status, with access to my Lord Hastings armoury. Else how did he get that dagger?" Lord Hastings nodded. 

"Thus it could be anyone who is a friend to my Lord Hastings, or even is close." Sir Francis did not hide his suspicion as he looked at me. He did not even try. "Beaufort, was it not the cousin of your wife first behind the attacks in York? The ones upon the messenger?" I tensed as he smirked. 

"That had no connection with me or my wife. Besides, that was not a direct attack upon the king's person." 

Sir Francis shrugged. "It is treason all the same." 

“Treason the man is innocent of.” Lord Hastings interrupted. “Unless you have evidence of the contrary?” 

Sir Francis shook his head, relaxing into the chair. “No. I merely think it appropriate to side with caution. Given the connections there are at Westminster.” Hastings face mirrored my own confusion. “Yes, I hope my lord Gloucester does not mind me saying.” He looked to Duke Richard for approval. “We would not have so willingly allowed the King to travel to London had we known of the presence of Lady Margaret Stanley at court.” 

“She is a Yorkist.” Hastings muttered, though objection was written over his face.

“She is married to a questionable Yorkist, and was so happy to change coats when Lancaster had lost it’s cause and was no longer convenient to herself or her Tudor brat.” Duke Richard spoke. “The Stanley’s have ever been conveniently aligned, I do not trust them. I most certainly do not trust her. Not now.” 

“She has access to the Queen’s rooms only. She does not set foot in Edward’s chambers.” Hastings spoke firmly. “I have ensured that.”

“Does Lord Stanley?” Gloucester snapped. 

“Is he a suspect?” Clarence murmured. 

“Everyone is a suspect, excluding myself, Francis and now Lord Hastings.” Gloucester retorted.

“Why does Sir Francis fall below your suspicions?” Hastings glowered. “My lady Stanley does not, and she has less access to the King than does Francis.”

“Because he is with me. Because we can never be too safe, and because it Francis and not Margaret Beaufort who saved my brother’s life.” Gloucester’s voice was a low growl. One which ended only as the doors opened. 

“My lady Stanley.” Clarence rose in what to all, seemed a surprising act of chivalry. My eyes however fixed upon my cousin as she approached the table. Though I saw her expression did not change, recognition sparked in her eyes. The small, almost unperceivable smile confirmed that she was pleased for my company. More so as she sat beside me. 

“I come with a message from the queen your grace.” She spoke to Clarence. “She wishes to be kept updated on the matter-“

He shook his head. “I do not think that appropriate. My brother has all the protection he needs. I do not see the need to worry the queen on this matter. I am sure she has so many worries, with the child she does carry, her tapestries and of course, the children my brother and she already have.” 

In truth, I did not listen to much more of what was said. I could not. Nor could I much stomach food, for my nerves were raw on edge. Not as I noticed the true intentions of this meeting. Not as I understood the undertone to Sir Francis’s words. My cousin was here not her position at court, rather for her suspected relationship to me. 

The undertone which also said that I was a suspect. That I had to tread with extraordinary care.


	23. Chapter 23

_Be careful where you walk, for shit lines the streets. Have care not to step in it..._

 

The words came to me in a dream fuelled by uneasy sleep. Though I did not have time to dwell on such words, for I was awoken from my trance by a woman's screams, shrieks within the distance. I heard feet on the corridors outside. It took seconds before I was out of my bed, fully dressed and running toward the cries. Wherever I had heard the footsteps from, no man, woman or child was in the corridors of Westminster, and the palace was deserted from all but the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. I did not slow my pursuit in my thoughts on this. The shrieks grew louder, now I heard a woman's sobs, muttered words. Words I could not understand. My heart pounded as I reached the corridor to the King's apartments. The door was open, before I could think to enter however, a strong arm sealed around my chest, and a knife was to my throat. "Do not think to move." Lord Hastings voice was low, his hands shook so much I thought he might slice my throat by accident. I froze against his chest, breathing heavily. “You think I would not see you?” He muttered. “That I would not see your plan Laurent?”  
  
“I do not-“ I was silenced, gulping as the blade dig in enough to make me wince in fear that should I breath, I myself would sever the veins.  
  
“Do not lie to me.” He hissed. “You fled that room and your circled back, all to look innocent. Yet you are the first to arrive. Quite conveniently.” His voice was growing louder. He stepped away only as the figure entered the corridor. I paused, in fear that the woman appearing before us would be the queen. Relief and shock filled me in equal measures as the female, no older than a child, turned to look at us.   
  
“Lord Hastings-“  
  
“Princess, please. I will be a moment.” His voice was a gentle calm as he guided her back to the door. He paused, looking into the chambers before he pulled her away, shrinking to her height as he bent his knee. “Lizzy, return to your room. Papa wishes some time alone I am sure. Yes?”  
  
“But ma mere-“ I heard the break in her voice, saw the tears in her eyes.   
  
“Your lady mother will be well sweeting. She is with papa. The queen wishes you were abed, that you had not fled your nurses care.” He stroked a hair from her face, kissing her forehead in a fondness that shocked me. As he rose he clicked a finger, a servant emerged, in moments escorting the Princess to her rooms. The Lord Chamberlain turned back to me, clearing the gap between us in a second. He gripped my ear, pulling me sharply through the threshold. “If you claim you know nothing of this then we shall see.” He growled, half dragging me through the expansive rooms, until we reached the kings private chamber. I looked in silence, stumbling as he pushed me into a chair. In the grand bed, King Edward lay silent, his eyes closed, though he did not sleep I knew.   
  
Beside him a man hurried around, the Queen fussed as she arranged the pillows beneath him. In the corner a woman cried, soon comforted by Lord Hastings as his hand rested gently on her cheek. “Sweet Jane, all is well. He lives, nay?”   
  
“He does but-“ She broke down into tears once again, this time her small body was racked by sobs. Muffled only as she masked her face in the chamberlains shirt.

 

It was several moments before anyone turned to me. Lord Hastings soon left the woman in the corner, turning his attention to the man in the bed as King Edward muttered, weakly. “Hobbes, go.” His eyes opened for a moment, closing again as he looked at me.   
  
“Your grace I-“ Lord Hastings spoke. Silenced as our King lifted his hand.   
  
“No, Will.” Our sovereign seemed reluctant as he gave in to his wife’s attention as she stroked a damp handkerchief to his temple.   
  
Meanwhile, Lord Hastings gripped Hobbes arm before the man left. “He is well?”  
  
“It is hard to say.” The man spoke in the voice of a man educated. “He did not breathe for so long. I did fear he was dead. Only breathing when I rolled him to his side, to check his tongue for discolouration. No easy task, I assure you. I persevered though, so scared I was he was dead. A good turn of fate I’ll say, for he did catch his breath again.”   
  
Hastings nodded, has hand shaking once again as he removed it from the man’s arm. Patting his shoulder in approval that the man could leave. I gulped as he turned to me, his cheeks colouring in red. “You.” He whispered. “Come.” He grabbed me by the scruff, pulling me into the next room, he slammed the door as he threw me to the floor. “Explain-“  
  
“I heard a woman scream, I heard her sobs.” I indicated to the next door room, my hands waving in a flurry. “I came to see what had happened.”  
  
“Except you knew!” His shout was one which made me wish to retreat into the corner. I could not help but wonder how long it would take before we gained the unwanted attention of the court. “Let me put it to you like this. It was _you_ who entered the King’s bedchamber, _you_ who pressed the pillow over his face, and _you_ who would have killed him had Lady Jane not been there to prevent it.”  
  
“I protest-“ My voice was shaky.   
  
“Of course you protest! Of course you would deny it!” He tried to regain control of his breathing. “That does not make you less guilty of treason. You treacherous whoreson! I should have known, I should have gone with my assumptions, I should have trusted my judgement.” He whispered. “Beaufourts, treacherous to the last.”   
  
“If you do have evidence.” Clarence’s voice cut through the cold night air life a knife. “We can have him arrested now. Then do we need evidence? A spell in the dungeons may do him well.”  
  
“I was about to say, when was evidence ever something you required George?” Gloucester interrupted as he entered the chamber behind his brother. “Stand up.” He spoke to me, offering Hastings a gesture that he should step away from me. He looked between us. “Explain my lord.”  
  
“The whoreson is behind this.” Hastings panted.   
  
“I heard as much, I asked you to explain. Not repeat.”   
  
“You do not ask of your brother?” Hastings muttered, a pathetic comeback.  
  
“I saw Hobbes on his exit. Ned can wait.” Gloucester muttered non-committal. His tone became sharper. “This cannot.”  
  
“He claims he does not know what happened, yet he was first here.”  
  
“The same could be said for you Hastings.” Clarence muttered, cockily.   
  
“George, be quiet.” Gloucester sighed. “Do you have a word on this Beaufort?”  
  
“I heard a woman cry, I came. I knew something had happened and-“ I gulped, unable to control my nerves.   
  
Gloucester smiled, and nodded. “So how did we find ourselves in here Hastings? Surely you know my brother would not want the man who tried to kill him in here. If you are so sure he was behind this, why did you bring him here?”  
  
“Because I hoped seeing what he had done would bring guilt to him, making him confess. Else fear when he saw Edward alive he would… Well he would know what that meant.” Hastings gasped. “He circled back, I am sure of it.”  
  
“Why do you suspect him?” Richard of Gloucester’s voice was calm. As though he had little interest. “You could suspect anyone based on that assumption.”  
  
“I saw the man leave, I recognised the man’s stature. I would have recognised him anywhere.”   
  
“Sir Francis is cleared from your suspicions so easily?” Clarence mused. “If only I had known you were so fickle.”   
  
“You might be the King’s brother but Jesu George, I _will_ hurt you.” Hastings declared. No man doubted him. George’s smirk dispersed.   
  
Gloucester held up a hand, a smile toying on his lips as he silenced George. “Laurent, you are dismissed. Expect my guard to visit at dawn. Until then, get some sleep.” Duke Richard said nothing more as he turned to the door to King Edward’s bedchamber, Clarence followed. It was several seconds before Hastings glare left me and he followed the Dukes without another word.

 


	24. Chapter 24

It was not Gloucester's guard who came at dawn, not even the royal guard as I had expected. No one came to take me to the Tower, or to any other prison I was amazed. I had not got a moments sleep when Gloucester charged into my chamber-come-prison cell unannounced. For a moment he said nothing as he looked at me. "Your Grace, may I ask, how is the king?" 

"As is to be expected. He is weak. Doctor Hobbes does say he is lucky to be alive. He has not regained his senses. Not so much as to leave the shock behind. He is still abed, with barely strength to lift his head. Then, that would matter little to you." I shook my head. "Little cept he is not dead.” A smile then toyed on Gloucester’s lips before he said the next words. “Of course, my brother has sense enough to be angry. He does not like this invasion. Mostly because it is an invasion of his privacy more than an attempt on his life.” 

"It may be futile, as it seems Lord Hastings has made his mind. Yet I plead with you. It was not me. Why would I wish him dead? Much less actively seek it. I would gain nothing from the King’s death. Nothing."

"Except a legacy, and the credit for that which your brother could never achieve. I know how powerful that could be. It would almost bring respect to my eyes if it was not my brother. Of course, I shall add, your brother’s of Somerset, they never hid their true intentions." His voice tailed off and he took a seat on the bench at the opposite side of the room. "It is not William Hastings who has control over your life and liberties, you would do well to remember that. It is me. I could have you swinging from the scaffold or ennobled with a duchy in an equally short period of time. That said, I'd need inclination to do both. I will not hang a man who is not guilty, but you have not given me proof of your innocence."

"How can I my lord?" I gulped. "When none do listen?"

"Don't be a fool." He sighed. "I have listened, for if I had not you would be dead. Do you think if I believed without doubt that you had truly tried to kill my brother last night, I could not have had you dispatched to your god in but a second? I have no proof of your innocence, yet I acknowledge that Lord Hastings is an ageing man. In his confusion, he may have mistaken you." 

"The woman, Jane? She saw the man in the room."

"I do not involve myself with the kings... Harlot." He shook his head. "Yet I do suppose you have a point. I shall question her, as I did the princess Elizabeth." My heart thundered. The princess had seen the events unfold? A small girl, no more than a child? Surely she would have confusion of the matter? "Yes, the child escaped her nursery last night, to be with my brother for his return. The child saw my brother’s attacker. Though she will say nothing of the man. She does not speak a word. It is as though she would protect them." Gloucester sighed. 

"Perhaps she did not see aught?" I suggested. 

"Perhaps. Except that does not help your cause. You should learn when you are winning sir. For why would the princess protect you? If she saw and held silence, she would not do so to protect a Lancastrian traitor, one she did not know. I would say that was testimony of your own innocence, would not you?"

I nodded. He rose, turning to the door. “Continue with your day, as normal. I have advised Lord Hastings to keep his distance from you. Do the same. Sir Francis will accompany you on your days. I do not want the scandal as a Beaufort is found washed up in the Thames, a knife in his chest. You are not a popular man, now even less so.” I must have offered a confused glance for he smirked and elaborated. “Nothing is secret in a court with ears for walls. My brother may like his privacy, though he has none. Naturally, the secret that it could have been you behind the attack is no longer a secret. The entire court knows.” He did not say another word as he left the room. I heard only one more word from him as he retreated. “Ned.” He did not sound happy, this unexpected greeting was the only warning I had. 

I rose to my feet before the door opened. “Do us both a favour Beaufort.” His voice was cold, and quiet. With the tones of a man who was struggling to speak. “Shall we skip the formalities? I believe you may know me well enough by now. I would advise you do not make an attempt on my life, for after all, I am armed, and my guards are outside. I would have join your kindred all too happily.” He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, one clearly newly fashioned as he walked to the bench, lowering his enormous frame onto it with difficulty. “My doctors, they advised I should not do this, but I could not keep away.” He chuckled and shook his head, as though someone had told a joke. I did not laugh, knew I should not. I knew well enough that this was a jest only the King was allowed to share. “I wish to hear it from you. You should know, I will know if you are lying.” He coughed, pain clearly filling him as he did. “I will not tell you what I think. I will not say a word to anyone.” He smiled, in his eyes, though they were dim with weakness, I saw that this was a game to him. “If you are innocent, my letting Will believe you are not may spur you to find he who is guilty. If you are guilty, then my men will come and they will end you.” He leaned back then, crossing his hands behind his head. “So tell me, what happened last night?” 

“I heard a woman scream, I awoke to it and I came to find her. To aid her, to offer some form of assistance.”

“You heard a woman scream, a strange woman, and you wished to help her?” He raised an eyebrow. “How, chivalrous.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. 

“I gathered someone was in trouble and feared it was you,”

“Without evidence it was me, you thought it might be and believed that among chaos, it was you who could help?” He sounded sceptical. “You think much of yourself do you not?”

I shook my head, he rolled his eyes. “Please your grace, please, I beg you to listen.” My words were a desperate plea, one which to my irritation seemed to amuse him. That was until I spoke my next words. “Ask the Princess Elizabeth. The Duke of Gloucester has already, but she may answer you-“

“What would she know?” He was not quite dismissive. 

“She was in your chambers your grace, I saw her leave, Lord Hastings he-“”

“The whoreson.” He muttered. “He did not tell me.” He said nothing more as he rose, walking to the door. I thought that was to be the end of our discussion. He turned back to me moments before the door opened. “You should know, I spoke to Jane. She did not recognise you when you came into my chamber last night. That does nothing to prove your innocence, for she said the assailant was wearing a cowel. Yet, she reckons that the man behind this is taller than you.” He offered a faint smile. “But Beaufort, my sentiments remain. If I see you in my chambers again, I’ll have your head.”


	25. Chapter 25

It was difficult to ignore the Queen's ceaseless presence beside the king. So much was she there in fact, that to Gloucester it became overtly irksome. No matter, he never dropped formality, so unlike George of Clarence. Lord Hastings I noticed seemed a changed man. There was never a moment he did not glare as he passed me, yet I could not help but worry for The Lord chamberlain.Weariness hung heavily upon every features, his eyes were always alert, always pained. This whole affair had begun to take it's toll - and the cost was high. The plan had been his, to keep King Edward busy at court. Busy, and visible. For over a week there had been no hint of an attack on the kings person, and whilst the endless array of public activities were so clearly weighing heavily upon Lord Hastings, his plan was working, however much the queen did object to it. 

Sir Francis, true to word, had never left my side. Even my sleep was now in his presence. He had indeed ordered a bed be made in his own chambers for me. That I knew was not for my protection. I was a prisoner in all but name. I did not breathe, nor eat, nor sleep without Sir Francis in my presence. We so rarely spoke, too often he eyed me with suspicion. A suspicion which, after a moments conversation with the king had changed. Now he seemed relaxed as he leaned against the wall beside me. That was until Lord Hastings, having received a messenger, left our presence only to return not ten minutes later with a woman in tow. Each voice fell silent as the woman, a dark haired gem of fading beauty, dropped a curtsy. King Edward I saw blinked in surprise. Several awkward moments elapsed in which he looked between the lady and her escort before he forced a smile upon his lips and offered a hand to the woman. I did not hear his muttered words and he rose her from her bent knee, placing a gentle kiss upon her hand. Sir Francis however did not hesitate to elaborate. "That, incase you did wonder, is Baroness Hastings." He smirked, rolling his eyes as Lord Hastings rested a hand on her back. One I saw gripped much too hard. "If you wonder why the king did look surprised? Then it is I assume as I heared from Clarence. Catherine Hastings is never at court, it is not much more frequent she does see her husband. He is often too busy galavanting with the King in London to much care for his wife or spare her a thought. That he has then not only invited her, but demanded she attend court is, well, quite the scandal."

"It is no scandal to wish to be with ones wife, even if one is a chronic philanderer." I offered, nonplussed. 

"Indeed, except he is not chronic, rather excessive. It is the meaning that will scandalise, not the gesture."

"I do not  
understand."

"No? Well, he suspects her. That is not a secret. Yet I do not know for which reason it is. That lady Catherine is a Neville, or that I was stabbed with Hastings dagger." 

"He thinks she did set it up?"

"He may think she would have, indirectly, access to his own armoury. If it is the second he thinks, then you should indeed take great care." Francis clapped a hand in my back as he approached Gloucester, leaving me in the corridor without a guard.

***

I had developed an awkward habit of hearing others conversations. Conversations I am sure they would have been happier with the knowledge that I had not heard them. This time however, none cept Clarence would know. He had charged me with task of scouting the Royal Chambers, to see what it was that had brought Baroness Hastings from Leicester. So I sat silent and unmoving in a curtain masked corner, in pitch darkness. In the main chamber I heard voices. Through a thinning of fabric I saw four figures sat before the fire. The King, Lord Chamberlain, the Baroness, and a female short in height, sleeping within the chair she sat. "I do not appreciate this husband." Lady Catherine began, his voice as cold as it was defiant.

"It is only to rule you from his suspicions, Cat." King Edward sounded casual. 

"It is so he can keep an eye on me, do not lie to me cousin." She hissed, uncaring of any public etiquette. 

I saw Sir William shake his head. "Woman, tell me, why would I need to keep an eye on you?"

"I do not know, and did not know Edwards life was in danger before you called me here-"

"My life is not in danger." King Edward muttered, quite ignored by the rooms other inhabitants. 

"Why else would you invite me here though husband? To meet your whores? Shore, is it?" 

I saw lord Hastings shift uncomfortably under this interrogation. It was king Edward who spoke. "Lady Jane is my mistress, not Will's, Cat."

"You take from him now?" I heard her scoff, saw king Edwards head shake in what I knew was exacerbation. The lady Hastings continued. "William, we have not a happy marriage, but a convenient one. One which stems from a trust not that you will not whore, and philander. No. One that you will not treat me badly, or make me suspect on who my brother was."

"That is not it! Do you know nothing woman?" Hastings shout made me jump. For a moment all eyes were on me, until their attention was lost and returned to their argument. "Someone made an attempt on the Kings life with one of my emblemed daggers! If it were not for Gloucesters pup Lovell, Edward may be dead. So forgive me if I must suspect you." 

"I will not forgive you." I saw Lord Hastings stand, approach his wife. His right hand raised, whilst his left grabbed her throat. 

It was but a second before our King intervened, his hands forcing his chamberlains away from his wife. When King Edward spoke his voice was low. "You will not strike her before me. Do you understand?" Lord Hastings nodded, returning to his seat. It was only when, after pouring my lady some wine, king Edward returned to his own seat that Lord Hastings spoke again. 

"It is not for you to forgive me." He said, in defiance. "Do you know the bastard son of Somerset?"

"I knew of the late Dukes bastards, yes. I do not know the boy." 

"How can I be sure?" Sir William retorted.

"How can you be sure I do? Your suspicion seems without reason." She whispered. 

King Edward rose, he walked to the window inches away from my secluded corner. I held my breath as I watched the Hastings'. "Is it for your own incompetence you do bring me here husband? Because you know you cannot solve this? Are your uses wearing thin and-" her words were cut off. At lightening pace Lord Hastings had cleared the gap between them and his hand connected with her cheek in hard enough force to make a loud crack. King Edward span to look at them. His face I saw already reddening. 

It was that moment I chose to slip from my stool with a bang. It was less than a second before I was hurled from my corner and into the rooms centre. "Beaufort." King Edwards voice was a low growl. Rage filled him I saw, tensing his muscles as he lifted me. I was no sooner to my feet than his fist connected with my nose. Lord Hastings was fast to help, pushing me against a wall, while our king fetched his sword. "Tell me why you were here? Why I should not have you killed this second? Why I should not do this?" I was silent, my tongue was heavy, leaden in my mouth. Still more as our monarch swung the blade down onto a table, slicing the wood. "Tell me!" 

"Clarence, he..." I muttered, lamely.

"Don't lie!" It was the kings hand who now pushed me to the wall. 

"I... I... Don't. Please-"

"You fail you follow orders. You fail to do anything other than spread your treason." He hissed. 

"Papa." I heard the girls words. Our monarch clearly did not. Not as he pushed me to my knees, dragging me away from the wall. Not as he lifted his sword, or as I screwed my eyes shut. I felt the gust of air, caused by a swooping blade, upon my neck. 

I was ready to die. 

The blade however never came. Instead a shrill scream filled our ears, I heard the blade drop to the floor and as I opened my eyes, I saw the perplexed expression on his majesties face. "Bess?" He muttered, his hand going to his heart. "Jesus but Bess, I did forget you were here." He returned to the side of his daughter, lifting the shivering child as she wailed. His eyes however never left me. His whisper was on I heard. "Will, have him escorted to the Tower. He can lose his head tomorrow." He did not mutter another word as he headed to his inner apartments. 

 

Afterall he did not need to. The cold hand of dread had already secured itself around my inards.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is in Will Hastings point of view

It was like a nightmare, in all except that I could not sleep. I cannot say what brought me from my bed and toward the King’s chambers, nor what filled me with so much dread as I cleared the rooms between us. With each step I told myself that the threat was gone, Beaufort was in the Tower where he would rot until the morning. The candle in my hand still shook as I walked, it’s dim, flickering light acting as a pathetic guide. As I approached Ned’s rooms I paused, hearing nothing from within. So often I was used to hearing hushed voices, mutters, moans and sighs. Tonight, there was nothing. I cursed my King in that moment, for this night he had chosen to sleep alone. This night, in celebration of his new found freedom, he had dismissed even Jane. 

Beneath the door I saw the flickering light of candles. Candles which confirmed that Edward would still be awake. That he would not mind this otherwise most unwelcome intrusion. Of course, I could not know, for his temper of late had been so ill. Edward, so normally happy, so normally cheerful could not snap into rages with a single breath. He no longer needed to be provoked. What was once accepted, I knew may be my undoing. That was why I paused longer than perhaps I might have. Thinking of my excuses for my presence in his rooms. That I was worried, that I wanted to check? That even I could not believe that Beaufort was truly still inside the Tower, though it had been me who had slammed the door on him? 

I reached for the handle in time, knocking it against the wood before I entered, every step cautious for the lack of response. Every step quiet in case he slept beside the fire. In case he did not wish to be disturbed. “Ned.” I whispered still behind the door. Hearing no response I had been temped to retreat, except I did not. Tension deep within my stomach said that I should not leave until I saw him. That was when panic filled me, for as I entered his bedchamber, he was not there. Like he had not been in any other room. The candle in my hand dropped with a crash. “Ned?!” My shout I knew would wake the household, in that moment I did not care. 

Nor did I care as I fled back through the rooms and finally into the corridors of Westminster Palace. “Ned!” I heard footsteps ahead, following them. Running, scuffling. My breaths were pants by the end of the hall, but I did not stop. “Have you seen the King?” My words were panted to a young guard who shook his head, perplexed. “Send out an alarm. For the love of God find him!” I continued my sprint. It was not long before I heard footsteps join the search. Gloucester was red faced as he cleared the corner, almost knocking me to the floor. 

“Will, what is this?” He whispered. “Why are men filling the corridors?”

“It’s Ned.” I breathed. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Concern filled the young Duke’s voice. “Gone where?” I shook my head in my admittance that I did not know. “Think rationally Will, my brother would not have gone far at such a time.”

“He would not have gone anywhere at such a time.” I tried to move away, to continue my search but Gloucester’s hands touched my arms, his eyes holding mine, fixing me in place. “Richard I know him like I know myself. I know him better than I know myself. I know he would not have left his chambers. Not now.”

“I know my brother also. I know he did not like the restraints we placed on him. I know he was so glad to be free of them. On another day, mayhap he would not have left his chambers, but tonight?” He ignored as I shook my head. “Where does Ned like? Where would he have gone?”

“Nowhere.” My voice was desperate.

“He does not frequent London?”

“Yes, but… never alone… He would not. He knows not to go alone. He knows not to at… Please Richard. We are wasting time. The king is missing.” My last words were high with emotion. Tears burnt my eyes.   
At that he nodded, stepping away. It did not take a minute for me to be once again away, flanked by Sir Francis Lovell. At any other moment I would have pushed him away, for that afternoon, whilst my suspicions of him had lessened, he was not exempt from being a culprit. Tonight however, his presence confirmed his innocence as he ran beside me. I too was glad for the presence of Thomas Grey as he joined our search. “Boy.” Grey knew I spoke to him as I stopped, panting at the end of the east wing. “Find your brother, take him and search the Great Hall and surrounding areas.” I grabbed the arm of a hurrying guard. “Go search the stables and, get a man to search the queen’s apartments.”

“He is not there.” Grey snapped. 

“Then Thomas, go yourself to the Hall and send Richard Grey to search the north wing. Lovell, you and I shall search the turrets.” He nodded as he followed the pace I set as I speeded toward the quickest route to the roof, taking steps two at a time until the cold air momentarily froze me still. Lovell barged passed me, pulling me up the stairs. That was until he himself stopped dead, his skin turning grey as he looked at the stones beneath his feet. 

“Was that door open?” He snapped. 

“Yes.” I muttered. 

He barely made a noise as he pulled the dagger from his belt. I cursed internally, realising I was unarmed. It was but a second before I saw the blood on the stones. Blood which trailed along the wall, blood which sent my heart racing. We moved with quiet speed along the walls, ducked low until we saw movement ahead. It was Francis who first rose, startling those ahead into a run. A run toward the tower not minutes ahead. Lovell for all his youth had the speed I did not. He was first to top the spiralled stairs, first to reach those ahead. I was breathless by the time I stopped. My heart beating too loudly in my ears. I wiped the sweat from my eyes, so finally I could see. Ned sat beside the wall, his hands bound in ropes. “Ned?” He looked at me, long enough that I could see the tears in his eyes. 

“Do not talk to him.” I did not recognise the voice. Nor did I recognise the man as he turned to face me. Every inch of me questioned how this stranger could have made his way into the Palace and more importantly, into Ned’s chambers unannounced. As he stepped into view I gulped, though Francis did not falter. The man’s frame was similar to our King’s, similar except that he now stood strong where our king did not. Stronger I would say for he had no difficulty in lifting Ned from his resting place. Nor did he falter as he pushed his head over the wall. I saw Ned’s hands hold the fabric of the man’s hose, his eyes shut. “Put the knife away Francis.” Our assailants voice was calm, as though he did nothing more than ask directions. 

It was then I saw the blood drip onto the stones. I do not know what crossed over me. I do not know what made me do it, yet I found my tongue out of my control. “If you have harmed a hair on his head-“

“You are in no position to make threats.” There was an odd amusement to his tone. “Is that not right your grace?” He lifted Edward’s head with force, enough I saw the gash on his cheek. Enough I saw the tears now streaming down his face. Enough to make me feel sick, to taste bile. 

“Will.” Edward’s voice was weak, quiet. “Don’t.” It was only his eyes that told me. Told me not that he wished I would give up. Instead they told me I had to fight, that indeed in that moment, Edward feared. Was I glad for Lovell’s fast thoughts as he used our words to move with speed? Yes. For it was that move that gave us room, and that move which saw Ned away from the wall’s edge, an inch further away from death. It was that move that saw Francis’s dagger against the traitors skin and that which, in a seconds thought, saw Ned’s feet hook around his attackers ankles and caught unaware, Ned rolled with force, sending his attacker over the wall. 

I do not know why I reached out, why I tried to save him. I suppose I knew that dead men could not talk. I suppose I knew that the Londoners would. 

I will never live down the shame that it was Francis and not me who knelt beside Edward, cushioning his head in his hands. “Lord Hastings. Fetch Dr Hobbes.” Francis muttered, lifting a hand to show me blood. I did not need to be told twice as I fled back down the stairs.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Francis' P.O.V
> 
> Once again, thank you to Michi :)

I take great pride and joy in being Richard`s closest friend and knowing him better than anyone but very few others, but even I had barely ever seen him lose control like that. When he saw our king, who was thankfully still conscious but had to be supported by me, Lord Hastings and four other men to even manage to walk, he choked a scream, and when we had laid the king down, Richard was by his side in an instant, waving us all aside. “What happened?”, he asked, and his voice was shaking. “What happened now?”

Before I could answer, Lord Hastings started to explain, and for a moment, I just stood there. Neither Richard nor Lord Hastings paid any heed to me, and the king was apparently too weak to speak, was looking at Richard while one of the men who had helped me support him was pressing a goblet to his lips.

It did not seem right at all to see him like this, and almost of their own accord, my feet started to move in the direction of the door of the chamber. I was no longer needed here. There was nothing I could do for the king now, and he would not want me to stand there staring like I had been turned to stone.

I certainly would not want it, had I been in his place.

Averting my eyes, I walked faster, trying not to appear like I was fleeing even though I was doing exactly that. All I could do was done, and I did not want to stand and stare like an idiot.

If I was being honest with myself, I wanted to see nothing of it. I wanted to have nothing to do with it, and when I excited the chamber, I was gripped by a sudden, stupid impulse to run. Away from the king`s chambers, away from Westminster.

Instead, even as I was thinking that, I could feel my legs start to wobble, and had to stop walking and lean against a wall so I would not fall, like the king had earlier.

The king whose blood was still on my hands. The king who could have died had Hastings and me arrived only moments later. He had been very lucky. The attacker could have lost his nerve, seeing us, and killed him as soon as he saw us. We could have said something that made him decide to do so. We could have arrived too late and only found his bleeding body.

The horrifying possibilities were almost as overwhelming as the fact that the king lying weakly in bed, was the best possible outcome for the situation we had found ourselves in, and slowly, I slid down the wall until I sat crouched in the corridor before the king`s bedchamber, in the shadow as light from the torches at the wall pooled all around me.

How easily we could have all been looking for our mourning clothing now. The torches would be extinguished and we would all be fearing the reign of a seven-year-old child guided by his mother.

It could have so easily happened. In fact, it could still happen. I trusted Beaufort no further than he could spit, but he had not been responsible for tonight`s attack. He sat in the Tower, there to be beheaded in the morning for a crime he did not commit, or at least not commit by himself.

Whoever was actually responsible for the attempts on the king`s life, he was still a free man. And obviously an influential man, to have so many opportunities to try murdering the king. And he might try yet again. He might still succeed.

The thought of that, of discovering the king`s bleeding body one day soon after all, after arriving just a moment too late, was too much to bear, and I could not help myself, retched weakly, had to swallow painfully not to disgrace myself by puking my guts up in front of the king`s bedchamber.

I was still fighting with myself when I heard a voice, nearly better known to me than my own, say my name, and turned around to see Richard walking towards me. I could not see his face, and his voice gave nothing away, but when he came closer, I could see he was still very tense. “Why have you left? My brother wished to thank you for intervening yet again to save his life. And I would be grateful if I had to by my side too, since Beaufort ...”

He trailed off, clearly having had the same thought I had had earlier, but I could not answer. The thought of going back into the king`s bedchamber, to face Hastings` suspicious glances, the king`s pretences that what had just happened was a solitary incident, the servants` whispers, Richard`s desperate attempts to be logical were more than I could bear right at the moment, so shortly after we had avoided disaster, and suddenly I blurted out: “I wish I was gone from this dratted place. I wish I was gone ...”

At that, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, Richard knelt down next to me, and for a wild moment I wondered if he would try to drag me on my feet so we could go back into the king`s bedchambers. Instead, he said, after a short break. “You have no idea how much I want this, too. I have not seen my wife in over a month. This court is filled with disgusting men. But someone is trying to kill my brother. I cannot leave, and neither can you.”

It was true, of course. I had known it even as I uttered the words, but still, hearing them made my strangely defensive. “There is nothing I can do”, I answered. “I just want to leave.”

“You do a damn sight more than any of those fools Edward has employed do”, Richard growled at that. “Or Hastings, or even me. Without you, my brother would be dead. We arrested Beaufort, and what now?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. It clearly had not been Beaufort. Tonight`s attack could not have been Beaufort. Nor had it been Hastings, and the suspicion I had had earlier seemed more likely than ever. Richard seemed to notice I was thinking something I was not saying, and was staring intently at me, finally saying: “What is it?”

I had not planned to blurt it out like that, but Richard was staring at me and I suddenly, I heard myself say: “Your brother George ...” before I realised what I was doing and Richard interrupted me with a sharp: “What?”

For the fraction of a moment I thought he was going to beat me, but of course he did not. He just remained frozen, and it was a while - a while that felt terribly long even though it probably wasn`t - until he said, hoarsely: “Why would you say that?”

He sounded strange, almost defeated, a tone I had never heard from him before, and I was tempted to say it had only been a silly thought brought on from panic earlier. But I could not. It was not true, and while I was terrified of how Richard would react if it was true, I was more terrified what might happen if I was correct and did not share my suspicions.

If I was wrong, however, and still voiced them -

My mouth filled with bile again, and it took me a moment until I had myself under control enough to continue, to say words that would be fateful. “Your brother George ... is the only one we have no whereabouts for at the time for his grace`s attack. He`s the only one who has not been looked at closely. The only one ...”

“He`s my brother! As much as Ned!”, Richard burst out, interrupting me. “He`s - he`s -” But he did not continue the sentence, and I saw comprehension dawn on his face. I wished I could protect him from it, but I could not. To save the king`s life, I had to make Richard go through this.

For the shortest while, Richard simply sat, but then he nodded, jutting out his jaw. “You are right”, he said. “We must i-investigate him.” His voice was almost steady, and had I not known him so well, I would not have heard the slight stutter in it. I had, but could not pay attention to it. We had to go through with it.

If only we were both far away from this dratted place.

I am not quite sure when I managed to get up to move to my own chambers after Richard had left me again to return to his brother the king`s chambers. I was very grateful that he did not ask me to come along after all, though I was loath to leave him to the whisperin and the intrigue of the king`s bedchambers by himself.

I just knew that I would not have been a help, not at that moment. More likely than not, I would have exploded at some point, or made a complete fool out of myself, and I was glad to be allowed to retire to the realitive quiet of my own chambers, where I dismissed all servants to then sink down in my favourite chair and not move at all.

Despite it being impossible, I still wished I was home in Oxfordshire with my wife. She would sing to me, and I would listen to her and pet my dog.

I tried to focus on this idea to calm down, on memories of such quiet, sweet, moments, but found that I could not. Instead, I found myself wondering if such times could ever happen again. Would there ever be a time again during which I could decide a day might well be lost until I returned to my duties, a day in which Anna and me would stay in our bedchamber, doing nothing but eating, playing cards and trying to finally conceive an heir after now two and a half years of living together as man and wife?

Would there ever be a time in which such leisurely hours would be possible again, because the king was safe and secure, there was nothing to worry about? At the moment, it seemed so unlikely as to be nearly impossible.

It seemed far more likely there would never be another moment of peace ever again if the king died, and that the king might die was a fact that could no longer be denied.

Even as I thought this, forcing myself to finally see that though Hastings and me had saved him from immediate death at the hands of the assailant, he was injured and had not looked good at all when I had left him, I suddenly felt uilty for thinking of nothing but my own peace and pleasure in the face of such a possibility. What did it matter of I never saw my wife again, when the king could die, the country be in unrest again.

Not only I, we all could die if this went wrong. And no matter how hard I tried, I saw only ways how it could go wrong. There had to be a way for everything to be alright in the end, but it remained hidden to me. Perhaps Richard had an idea? For all I had said early, for all I had seen the pain at the thought of his brother George being responsible in his face, he had stayed calm.

I had barely ever seen Richard lose control, and perhaps he would know how this situation could not be brought to a good ending. After all, Richard knew everyone involved perhaps better than any other man living. If he was also lost, then we were all doomed. No one else could resolve it. Not even the king, though it hurt me to think so, and certainly not Lord Hastings.

The thought of the lord, whom I cannot say I much liked, suddenly turned my thoughts into a completely strange direction, as suddenly I found myself pitying him. What had he to look forward to even if this situation was resolved? He had lands aplenty, certainly - and I would know, since some of those he held were mine by right - the favour of the king, but that seemed shallow in view of what had just happened. The king nonetheless seemed uninclined to trust him right at this moment, and while this was understandable, it still had to be hurtful.

And his wife seemed likely to cause more trouble than to soothe it.

I could not imagine what it had to be like to be married to a woman you neither liked much nor trusted, though naturally I was not fool enough to think the accord between me and my own wife was very common. Many men left the childbearing and estate management to their wives, but not their secrets and confidences. Many men found pleasure with women not their wives, and if rumours could be believed, Hastings was fond of doing exactly that.

But would that be a comfort, in those dreary hours?

I was still engrossed in such silly thoughts, like a man who had drunk too much even though I had not, when, after perhaps an hour or so, one of my servants apologetically entered my presence again to tell me that Richard wished to see me.

He had barely finished announcing this when Richard came into my view behind him, and had it been any other time, I would have smiled. Richard had ever rejected to wait until he was announced, had more than once woken me from my sleep because he had remembered, at some ungodly hour, there was something he wished to speak with me about.

It seemed like this was a habit he was still keeping, even in all the mayhem around us.

But unlike most of those times, he did not look amused or at least relaxed, but terribly tense, and I immediately jumped up to offer him my chair, an offer which he did not hesitate to take up. He fell into it like a man twice his age, then said nothing for a while, only stared at me.

It was unnerving, but just when I thought if I should address him, ask him if he felt well, he finally spoke, saying a single word: “Frank.”

I froze, stared at him at this use of my childhood nickname. No one had called me that for years, and even when I had been small, Richard had only done it to tease me. Now seemed hardly the right moment for thinking of that, but my friend lapsed into silence again, did not explain for what seemed endlessly.

Only after several moments did he say, abruptly: “I was thinking of our time at Middleham. Both of us such frightened children, and my cousin of Warwick taught us how to be men. He was more father to me than my own father ever had the chance to be.” He looked at me, sharply. “I know it was the same for you. You loved him as well as I did.”

It was the truth, and I could not have denied it had I wanted to. But at the moment, I did not think of doing so, was watching Richard, transfixed, not knowing what to say at all. Nor did he expect me to, for he already went on, giving me no chance to answer. “When I realised that he would betray Ned again - I would not sleep for two days. And after that, I was furious. How did he dare. He and George.” He suddenly shook his head. “Is it happening again? A man I love against another man I love?”

There was no answer to this one. How could I possible console him in the face of that? I had known the shock of what Warwick had done, but it had not brought me into a six-months-exile. And my own shock at the thought that the king`s brother might be trying to kill him, my own fear what this would mean, the concern for Richard could not compare to what he had to be thinking and feeling right now.

I had no particular likening for George of Clarence. In fact, I knew perfectly well that hardly anyone did, and perhaps that made it worse for Richard. Not even his wife held his brother in much regard - and for good reason - so he knew that he would be almost alone in having sympathy for George. Like me, most people would hardly be surprised if he turned out to be the culprit.

As far as anyone could tell, the only people in this world loving George of Clarence had been his wife, who had died last winter, his young children, his mother and Richard.

I could not pretend I did, so I did not try. Richard would have looked through it in any case. All I could do was try and make it easier for him. “I can - talk to Hastings if you wish”, I said, after short contemplation of what I could possibly do. “Next morning.”

Richard seemed inclined to agree to the offer, but only for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I have to see after my brother myself!”, he said. “And I will have to tell Hastings then. That George is to be suspected.” He gave a rough laugh. “He`ll be delighted, the old goat.”

“Well, I don`t think you should”, I responded, and Richard raised his eyebrows at me. “Do you?” His voice was slightly caustic, but I ignored this. “I am sure you have told his men to inform you immediately should anything about his condition change?”

“Of course”, Richard answered, drily, and for the shortest of moments, I felt triumphant for having been able to tell this. But then I felt bad for the impulse and went on: “So what is the point of you going to see him when nothing has changed, to see Hastings delight in a mere suspicion? I do not think it wise.”

I knew I was daring a lot, that many men would have told me that no matter how much of a friendship connected me with him, it was not right to speak thus to a royal duke. But I also knew that Richard valued my opinions and did not like men who agreed with everything he said to gain his favour. I had ever spoken the truth to him, even as a small, frightened child awed by speaking to the king`s favourite brother, and I think it was this that we founded our friendship on, until he was simply Richard to me and I would no more have tried to agree with him to gain his favour than I would have lied to myself.

Still, while this was alright in the privacy of my own chambers, I had to pay attention no one would overhear and accuse me of lacking respect towards the king and his family.

Richard took his time thinking over my words, but finally he shrugged. “I shall decide in the morning”, he said. “I would wish you keep me company until then.”

I did not point out that we were in my own chambers, simply nodded. There was no point to such quibbles now.

I would have been loath to leave him in any case, with so much on his mind. And in a position that could well be dangerous. If George of Clarence was the culprit, and if he knew we suspected, none of us was safe


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of the chapter is in William Hastings point of view, the second in my O.Cs

Pain seared through me, more pain than Edward felt. I gripped his hand, shaking, as though willing him to rouse from whatever dark place he was in. Yet his eyes did not flutter open, his mouth did not utter a word. He remained silent, not in slumber but in a sleep deeper than I had ever seen. Irritation filled me as Hobbes, Ned's most trusted doctor, hobbled around the room. There was no speed to what he did, no urgency. Not a damned thing. It was like this did not matter, like there was nothing he could do. I could not accept the harsh reality that we were now powerless to the will of God. Ned would live or he would die. We could do nothing to aid that decision.   
  
Gloucester had returned after following Lovell from this chamber. Ned had still been conscious, though his words dangerously slurred. His body did not move except in spasms. Hobbes had knelt on the mattress beside him, tending his wounds with wine and salt. For the first time I could recall, I had heard Ned whimper. He had tried in his efforts to buck away from his physician, though he had not succeeded. That had caused Hobbes to pause, that should have confirmed the gravity of our predicament.  
  
Yet it did not. I had been more focused on Richard of Gloucester. For though he tried to hide it, something within him had changed. His eyes were darker, an air of the stricken was somehow about him, and as he looked at Edward, he looked plainly sick. His voice however was level as he spoke. "Ned." He had said, and Edward looked, forced a smile on his face with the energy he had. "Francis could not stay, for he does not feel well."  
  
"The excitement." Ned muttered, almost incoherently. That had itself pulled heavily on my heart. He had gone from seeming drunk to this. By that moment he could not move an inch, save for his head. Paralysis pinned him down I saw. It took Hobbes great effort to continue his work when Gloucester left. His words were just the normal. That Francis did not want thanks. That he did not wish a reward. I was not a fool however. I could see that something festered in Gloucester's mind. Something which tasted sour.  
  
Of course I knew he would not tell me. For why should he?   
  
He had left soon after. Unable to stomach Ned's deterioration? I could not say.   
  
Yet I sat with our king all that night. I helped Hobbes clean every wound, held Edwards hand as his doctor stitched those in need of stitching. Watched as Hobbes replaced the blood soaked rag behind his head with one soaked in wine. I watched as Hobbes retreated. He was to return each hour to check on Ned's condition. But it was me who saw his words become nothing and see he slip into unconsciousness. I had sat then all night. Beside him. As dawn broke through the windows, our monarch still slept. No matter who suggested it however, I could not.

 

Nothing in that room changed for several hours. It must have been close to nine in the morning before I was alerted to movement behind me. The sound of skirts dragging along the floor forced me to my feet. Elizabeth and I had never been friends, it was seldom the case a civil word would pass between us. Now however she looked at me with pained eyes. “Has he woken?” She whispered. News had travelled to her this morning, for she had been abed when Ned had vanished into the night. I shook my head, she sighed as she looked at me. “You have not slept my lord.” Once again, I shook my head. “You must, at least you must not watch over my husband in such a state. I have men posted outside the room, though I doubt any man would think to attack whilst I am here.” She smiled, a beautiful smile in which I saw the reason Edward had married her. A smile I was compelled to return.   
  
It was with great reluctance however that I obeyed, forced away from my friends bedside not by Elizabeth, but Francis Lovell. The boy had appeared in the doorway, looking as frightened as a lamb. “Lovell.” I muttered, tiredness I knew ebbing it’s way into my voice. I saw he was out of his comfort zone. A week ago I would have been pleased, would have delighted in his fear. Now however, it did not matter. I apologised as my hand resting upon his shoulder forced the boy to jump. “What brings you in here?”   
  
“Richard wished to know how his brother is.” Francis replied, quietly.   
  
“He did not think to come himself?” I scoffed.  
  
“He did. I could hardly stop him.” He admitted. “Except I did wish to talk to you. That and I thought that like yourself, Richard could probably benefit from sleep-“  
  
“Do not tell me I should sleep.” I snapped, rather unduly. Young Francis held up his hands in defeat, stepping back. “You did not tell me I should, did you?” He shook his head. “Accept my apology.” He shook his head, not in rejection but rather his way of saying I did not need to apologise. “I just, I do not think a man could sleep at a time like this.” I did not look to him as I lowered myself into a chair with a fragility that surprised me. “You can tell Gloucester that the King has lapsed into sleep. Not long after the Duke left, Edward fell to sleep. A deep sleep, he has not awoken since. Hobbes does…” My voice choked back in my throat as I tried to hide the emotion. “Hobbes does think he may not.”

 

“Jesus.” Francis muttered in what I reckoned was a rare piece of blasphemy. I do not know why I smiled. Perhaps this whole situation had made me reminiscent of my first days alone with Edward. The first time he had cursed and feared I for one might box his ears. Their tone if I recall was much the same.   
  
I shrugged. “There is not much we can do. Now tell me, why you wished to see me?”  
  
“Because, I have news which I do think should be delivered to you.” He inhaled quickly, continuing his words quicker. “It is about who was behind this.”  
  
“Beaufort was behind it, we were sadly unable to stop it.” I dismissed him.   
  
“If only that were true then all our jobs would be easier. No, it is not. At least, Beaufort could not have done this without aid.”   
  
“That is why my wife does not yet know it, but she is under guard in her rooms. She will not be allowed to leave.” I sighed.   
  
“That is quite illogical.” Francis muttered. “Your wife was in Leicester when this whole thing began. Whilst it might be easiest for you to believe it was her, guilt by association perhaps? Or is it that the job is done quickly, and easily? Do you really think your wife had the resources let alone the motive to kill the King of England? From Leicester no less? I also do not think you foolish enough to bring her to court if you truly suspected her.” I looked at him, offering nothing, though in my head I confirmed it. “I do not want to speak prematurely, and release Beaufort from his incarceration. Yet I think at most he is the wingman. He perhaps has been employed by someone more prominent. To take the fall.”   
  
“Very well. Who do you propose was behind this?” My voice was surprisingly lacking in interest. That was until he spoke his next words, which saw me sat right forward in my chair.

  
“I do not propose anyone was behind it without doubt. Cept’ we have agreed that George of Clarence must be suspect.”   
  
“Really? Clarence?” He nodded. As he did I could not help my thoughts.  
  
Why had I not thought this sooner?

 

 

***  


The Tower of London (that afternoon).

Laurent’s P.O.V.

The bed beneath me was cold and uncomfortable. Little more than a blanket on the cold, wet floor. I had spent the night shivering beneath it, cursing George of Clarence for sending me what had been unmistakeably a suicide mission – cursing myself for being so foolish as to fall from the stool. Having been left alone with my thoughts so long, I could think of only one odd conclusion. That I indeed drew comfort from my pending execution. An execution I had imagined would have been swifter, would have happened when the dawn sun rose in the sky.   
  
I had duly prepared, using the first hours of light to scribble a letter to my wife. One informing her that I would not return. One urging her to forgive what had happened, forget the past, and to live her life in either a secluded anonymity, else forgive York and accept King Edward’s rule.   
  
Then I had retook my place, sat upon the wet floor, and I had waited, and waited… Yet nothing had happened. No man had come to my door to usher me out into London, and to death.   
  
I rose as I heard voices in the corridor outside, gulped as I heard the keys find the doors lock. I did not look up as the men entered, I did not dare to even breathe. Whatever comfort I had taken from my imminent death was now gone. “Beaufort.” I recognised Lord Hastings voice in an instant. “Today it seems is your lucky day.” I did not see what was lucky about it. Less so as he gripped my arm, dragging me from the cell and into the corridor before he looked me over. “This will not do. You’ll freeze on your way to Westminster like thi-“  
  
“Westminster?” I murmured. “I will be taken to Westminster?”  
  
“Yes.” He snapped, as though I should have been aware of this development. “Were you not informed?” I shook my head. “You are to come back to the palace. At my order no less, it seems someone temporary fixture at court has put in a good word for you.” He put his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place as I began to step forward, too eager to be out of this God forsaken place. “But know, if you step out of line, I will personally hang, draw and quarter you in the grounds of Westminster, and I do not much care what Ned thinks of it. As it is, I risk enough taking you from here. I doubt Ned will much like that I am undermining his authority so utterly.”  
  
“King Edward does not know you are here?” My eyes were wide with surprise.   
  
“No. He does not, he would not much like it, so let us hope he remains in his slumber until such a time when this is resolved. For he will have both our balls served to us on a silver platter should he know. Yet I am not without principles, and I cannot let an innocent man be executed.”

We did not speak another word to one another. Not as we were leaving the Tower, not as we walked through London. He did not pay attention to the passing glances, nor yelled remarks of the Londoners. Londonders whom I assumed knew him, would recognise him, and knowing nothing of me, would think me on my way to execution. How disappointed they must have been as we strolled through the gates and into Westminster Palace.

There was an odd, eerie silence as we cleared the corridors in record time. No man of notability was in sight. Only the servants who scuttled about, all stone faced and silent. My head was kept bowed, my eyes low. So dedicated to my guardedness was I that in my lack of care, I almost walked into the Duke of Clarence. My mistake I was sure was muttering my stammered apology.   
  
“Beaufort?” The Duke’s tone was one of suspicion. Though his attention did not stay on me long. “Oh William, tell me you did not?”  
  
“What of it? You are not King George, and you might do well to remember that.”   
  
“Nor I might add, are you. Yet you seem to think that as friend to the King, you can act as one, your authority second to none. Not even me.” Lord Hastings scoffed, grabbing my arm he pulled me as he tried to side step the Duke. “Not so fast William.” Clarence’s own hand grabbed me, and as they pulled I felt I would be torn in half. That was until Lord Hastings stopped. “Tell me, how do you intend to tell my brother of why a traitor is returned to Westminster?”  
  
“I intend this matter to be resolved before he awakes.” Hastings growled.   
  
The wry smile told me what his words did not have to. “I do so hope you succeed.” Clarence did not say another word, releasing me as he continued his march toward his chambers.

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again in Lord Hastings
> 
> Chapter's in my O/Cs P.O.V are going to be fewer...

Clarence’s words should have acted as a warning, but they did not. I had returned the Beaufort bastard to his rooms before I had silently made my way back into Ned’s bedchamber, where nothing appeared to have changed. That was until his hand reached for mine, securing like a shackle around my wrist. I winced, testing my conscious efforts not to pull away. Instead I rose to my feet, leaning an elbow on the bed. “Ned?”

“Will?” His eyes fluttered opened and though they were hazed by weakness, he seemed once again very much in control of his senses. “Thank God, I…” A small smile came to his lips. “I had an awful dream.” He tried to sit, pushed back down by my hand. He winced as his head made contact with the pillow, his free hand touched the back of his head, then his cheek. “It was not a dream?”   
“Unfortunately not.” 

He sighed, the whole affair now visibly weighing on him. “Then thank God we got Beaufort away before it happened. I would likely be dead if we had not.” He looked at me, I was not sure he could not see my heart pounding. “He would have had more time to prepare had we not found him when we did and surely he would have succeeded.” His hand released mine then. “Good lord Will, you look greensick. Are you quite well?”   
“What?” I blinked. “Yes Your Grace, I am well. I am simply glad the whole thing is over and you are awake. You gave us all a right scare, and Hobbes, well he did not have faith you would wake from, well from the whole thing.”

He laughed, a sound I was glad to hear. A sound which for just a second slowed my frantic heart. “You seem to not be in control of your tongue my lord, this is not like you. Tell me what really bothers you.” I hesitated, long enough to give him time to sit. “Come now Will do not think I would not notice. I may have a sore head and a graze no worse than one would get shaving.” I smiled at his jest, could not bring myself to laugh. “I may have had the sleep of all sleeps, but that does not mean I would not notice. ‘Your Grace?’” He scoffed. “When have you ever called me that? What’s more, I have never known you to ramble on more than Mary. That girl can talk, I do not know where she gets that. Now you are victim of it too? I would think it a disease if I did not know better.”   
“I am just-“

“Do not lie to me.” He snapped. “I am not an imbecile.”

“Ned, do not be wrath with me.” My voice was like a child’s I knew, and for a moment, just a moment, sympathy flashed in his eyes. “Jesu… I thought I was doing the right thing but…” 

“Spit it out.” His tone was one of impatience. “I do not like to be kept waiting.” 

“Beaufort is no longer in the Tower.” I whispered. I moved away, awaiting the rage, though there was none. Instead I was greeted by a silence which tricked me into thinking he had not heard. Yet as I looked at him, I saw the silence was for my sake. That he was trying to control a murderous rage. 

When he spoke his voice was quiet. Dangerously calm. “This whole event must have taken more of a toll on me than I did think. For I do not think I heard you right. Tell me, did I hear you correctly when you said that Beaufort is no longer in the Tower?” I nodded, gulping as I saw the icy glaze run over his eyes. I was frozen to the spot, unable to defend myself as with one swift move the flagon beside him crashed against the wall, close enough I felt it brush my head. “Why in God’s name not?!” His shout made me wince. “Do not! Do not give me that look! Do not wince and flinch away like my daughters when they have angered me! It will not work!” In that moment I was glad he was bedridden. As glad as I had never been before. “Answer me!”

“Edward I-“

“You did not think!” 

“Ne-“

“No. Do not call me that! Do not even speak to me!” From being sat, he swung his legs from the bed, testing his feet as he held onto the poster of the bed. “You do not know how close I am to having you yourself taken to the Tower.” He growled, thankfully his shouting desisted.   
Thankfully such shouts had alerted Hobbes, who came through the door just as Edward released the bed, taking unsteady steps toward me. “Edward- Your Grace you must not.” His words came to no avail, and the few successful steps turned to nothing as Edward reached for the chair before he hit the floor. 

“Do not touch me.” He muttered to Hobbes, brushing off his doctors attention as he tried to lift him to his feet. “I said do not.” He snapped, offering Hobbes a fierce shove. One which saw the older man stumble, catching his balance moments before he stumbled into the Queen, thankfully she did not seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed solely upon her husband. 

“Edward.” Her word was almost a wail as she ran in his direction, kneeling beside him. Her attentions so clearly unwanted. “How did you, how did he?” She looked at me, as though he could not talk for himself. Her hands fixed around his arms as she looked at him once again. 

“Do not fuss me woman.” He hissed, forcing her to step back. “Leave us, the both of you.” Hobbes was the one who pulled Elizabeth away as she looked to her husband blankly. I waited until they had left the room before I spoke. 

“She has taken to sleeping in the presence chamber since-“

“I do not care.” He mumbled. “Help me.” He indicated to the chair he had reached for. My hands were shaking as I did my best to support his weight enough to help him sit. “We are not done, do not think to leave.” He gripped my arm as I turned to flee. “You are not a coward, now face me like a man. Account for your actions.” I nodded. “Why is Beaufort free?” 

“Because…” I gulped, he sighed. “May I?” I pointed to the flagon which sat on the table, still filled with wine. He shrugged, I poured a cup, not offering one to him. In that moment, I could have drunk the barrel. In that moment I felt the need to. “Because at the least, he was not acting alone. I have not found him innocent Ne- Your Grace. I have not cleared him.” My voice still shook, though I was thankful my tongue worked. He said nothing, only looked at me in silent consideration. “He may have had an accomplice, more likely of course, he may have been the fall man for someone else.” 

“Who else?” 

I did not know whether I should mention Clarence. I did not want to. I did not want to risk Ned’s renewed anger over this. For if we were wrong… I did not want to think of that possibility. “I do not know.” 

He nodded. “Where is Beaufort?” 

“He is here, at Westminster?”

“You brought him here?” His voice was raised to little less than a shout. 

“I…I… I… I wanted to keep an eye on him.” He snickered. 

“You have done so well on that record so far Will. It is not thanks to you I am not dead!”   
“I protest, that is simply not fair.” 

“No?”  
“No.” I barked. “Have you thought that you can be so childish?” I saw his anger spark once again, turned my back as I continued. “Before you warn me to mind who I speak to, you are already in the mind to have me executed! Do not pretend you are not. I could have left you on the floor, I could shout and scream but unless I tell you what you want to hear it will not change it! So as I have no intention of lying to you, I might as well be hung for mutton not lamb.” I growled, seeing I had earnt his silence. “I was the one who raised a call to arms to find you, and had I not you have been dead, then it not matter much whether I released Beaufort or not. I have released him because at the best, he can take to who is really behind this. Do you not think that he will be watched? He will have attendants with him when he eats, shits, sleeps and breathes. He will not be alone. Not for a second. So if you think it is not thanks to me that you are alive, then please, have me hung now.”   
“I might.” He sounded like a petulant child. 

“Please do, for it is better than having to endure this. Anyone would think I am the suspect, and I have shown you nothing but loyalty.” He saw the break in me. Saw the tears in my eyes. I should have stopped, had my passion not been enraged, I would have known to curb my tongue, but instead I did not. “If you want to see the true suspect, then look no further than Clarence.” 

“Tread with care Will. Even you should not go there.” His voice was once again ominously quiet. 

“I… I am sorry.”   
“You mean to say.” He continued as though I had not uttered an apology. “That you suspect my brother George, and yet he was so freely able to visit me, alone, not twenty minutes before you got here.” 

“He was? Alone? You had no one to attend you?” My voice was now filled with concern. 

“He did not poison my wine, or force me to swallow glass. He did not do a single thing, but talk.” 

“The whoreson.” I whispered, for a moment forgetting of whom I spoke. 

“That is enough.” He snapped. “I will not hear it. That is my mother too you speak of. Does Richard know of this preposterous suggestion? For I doubt he would hear it.” When I did not speak, he drew his own conclusions. “Leave, now. As you go, send for my brother Richard and then bring the Beaufort bastard to me. As for tonight, and perhaps the rest of your short lived future, you can sleep in the servants quarters for all I care.” I turned to the door, pausing before I left. “And Will, know that if you are wrong, I’ll see you swing in George’s place for this, and yes, I will deny you the dignity one could say you deserve. Now go.” 

I did not need to hear another word.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's POV

My bedchamber, once a haven of luxury, had now become the cell of my confinement. An unbearable space in which the air was so thick, so heavy I thought every breath would see me choke. Quite naturally therefore, I had ignored Hobbes' pleas as he implored me not to leave my bed so soon. I had been free of that cursed room for a little over an hour, and whilst my head screamed for rest and a strange sickness filled me to the very core, I had returned from my walk outside short of venturing as I pleased into London. After all, Will would be watching like a hawk. He would have me know better than to venture into London alone. He had in recent years become my nurse, and I once again was like an infant. A trend I had in truth grown mightily tired of. That was why I did not return to my rooms as he might have liked. Instead I walked, through the halls of the palace, alone and unguarded. By the time I found myself in the west wing, with the intention of visiting my daughters, I could not help but let my attention slip. It was as I heard the voices that I sat in the alcove, listening. "Francis you shouldn't think of it. Not now, not here. Richard will be fine. He-" I did not need to see to know the voice belonged to Francis Lovell. I did not need to know of what he spoke to feel the smile pull on my lips. That was until I heard the voice that always cut through me like a knife. 

"Little Francis, it is an unhealthy obsession to talk to yourself. People might think you have something to say. Do you have something to say?" I risked a glance, my head popping round the corner to view the situation. Francis shook his head, whilst George stood over him. In truth the boy looked green sick, and George most certainly was not helping. Nor to my irritation was Will as he stood, watching over them in silent goading. I cursed, sighing as I saw the small courtyard begin to fill with faces too familiar to me. Thomas now stood against the wall and smirked, Richard Grey beside him, whilst my own son Richard, so small among these men, stood watching in wide eyed horror. 

That was the moment I could not stomach it a second longer, as George continued his ridicule. Nor it seemed could Francis, my feet were stopped from moving as a second after his skin turned an almost translucent white, he vomited. “I told my brother Gloucester you were not up to this. I told him children could not stomach a man’s world. I told him that Prince Richard, even my own son, would make a more suitable for this than you. Alas he would not listen.” I did not hear another word of my brother’s taunting, I barely saw as young Francis once again vomited. He was wiping his mouth as I approached. 

“That’s enough.” George winced as I pushed him back, almost toppling until I gripped him, holding him still. Every eye was on me. “Richard.” I spoke to my step son, the more obedient Grey boy who now looked at me. “Take my son inside.” My hand remaining fixed on George. I did not move until I saw my child back inside the walls. Then I heard Will wince as I threw George onto the gravel. He did not have time to move before I pinned him to the ground with my foot rested gently on his throat. “Do not move.” As I whispered the words I could not help but sense that everyone listened. Everyone that was except Thomas. 

His movement was much to my own irritation. As Thomas Grey had grown older, he had become increasingly a law unto himself. A law unto himself which I had grown ever less tolerant to call my stepson. That was why I knew he would speak before I heard him even part his lips. That was why I was prepared. “Do not speak Thomas, I do not think I have the patience for one of your wise remarks.” He did not say a word and my attention returned to my brother, now squirming under me. “I do not tolerate bullying George. You of all people should know that. Least of all will I accept it from you to him. Francis Lovell has more honour in his little finger than you have in your body.” I knew that my eyes were as hard as my voice was cold, that was why George shrunk beneath my boot. So much so that the futility of my action seemed apparent, and my foot rested once again on the stones. “I did not say get up.” I snapped at him, making everyone jump. 

“Edward, I.” He gulped. 

“Get onto your knees.” I saw Hastings shy away from the corner of my eye. Saw his uncomfortable expression at the icy tone I offered George. I waited until my brother had obeyed before I uttered another word. “Apologise to Francis.” No one heard my words I was sure as I knelt in front of George whispering. “You will not say ‘I’m sorry.’, or even ‘I am sorry Francis’. No, you will say I am sorry my Lord Francis, and George, you will mean it.” 

As I stood again, I saw George’s visible repulsion. Repulsion which made me smirk. “Say it.” I snapped. 

“My Lord Francis.” He muttered, though I saw little of sincerity. “Please accept my apology? My behaviour, it was, it was wrong of me.” George sighed, defeated. I could not help but turn to look at Francis, seeing his stricken look. An expression which made me falter long enough that George had tried to scramble to his feet. A mistake which saw my fist connect firmly with his jaw. A grim satisfaction came as he spat a blood coated tooth. 

“Do not defy me George. Do not ever defy me.” He did not whimper, only looked at me with eyes filled with a burning hatred. I paid little attention, turning away from him. “Will, pick up his tooth, and Thomas, escort my brother back to his apartments. If I hear a word from a single one of you, then you shall be the one fetching me the sword to kill you with. Am I understood?” Everyone nodded. “Now get out of my sight, all of you. That is except for you.” I indicated to Francis, seeing the boys face once again turn white as everyone else vacated the courtyard in silence. 

I did not move until we were alone. Only then did I approach him, taking the handkerchief from my purse, I handed it to him. “Here, wipe your mouth.” I said nothing more as I returned back inside the palace, indicating Lovell should follow. 

It was only after he had finished dabbing his mouth, with an expression of mortification, that he spoke. “Your Grace, I….. Thank you, though you did not have to.”

I think my chuckle surprised him. “You mean to say you did not want my intervention, yet you are too polite to say it.” As he said nothing I shrugged. “George sometimes over steps the mark, and I cannot see him hound you in my court, much less my presence. I have a personal vendetta against those who needless pick on the weak and the vulnerable, especially for nothing more than their own satisfaction.” I leaned against the wall, acknowledging his perplexion with amusement. “You may also call me Edward.” My hand recoiled to my side as, much to his own surprise I am sure, he held out the handkerchief. “You may keep that.” 

“Erm, thank you your grace.” I am sure my laughter confused him, for he fell silent. Continuing only as I shook my head in a fondness I am sure he felt he had not earnt. “Forgive me, but may I go now?”

“No, you may not.” I saw his face fall as hope vanished from his eyes. “I am in need of a word with you. You have much to answer.” My hoot of laughter only served to make his fear worse I saw. “Good lord lad, I do not mean that you are to be interrogated. You are the only man in England I have patience for at this moment.” Relief and horror filled him in equal propotions. “It has not been an easy few weeks for you Francis Lovell. Do not think I have not noticed, and do not think I am not eternally thankful.”

“I was just doing my duty.” His voice was quiet, it gave away nothing. 

“Modesty is admirable, but do not be so brash as to reject the complement I pay you.” I held up a hand as he parted his lips, about to speak. “And do not apologise, else we will be here all day and we will never get to the true matter of this conversation.” He seemed appalled as I continued, half in deliberate diversion, half in reminisce. “I remember when I first met you. You would have come to no higher than my knee. Then later, when I saw you during my cap- during my stay at Middleham. You likely do not recall-“

“I do your grace.” He smiled as he saw me smile. 

“You have grown up. Are now a man, and a man more admirable than I could thought my cousin could raise.”

“Richard did help.”

“My brother? Hmmm, I do not for a moment doubt it. You are good friends with my brother are you not?” 

“I am.” 

“And he is lucky for that, and thankful too. Richard was ever one to count his blessings before life is over. Such prematurity has always made me ill at ease. Yet I suppose it brings Dickon comfort.”

“I think he knows who is loyal to him, and who is not.” 

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I did too. Yet this farce has made me doubt good men. William Hastings was a good man, and now I am not sure.” I knew he let me talk, though he was clearly appalled. He did not have the nerve to ask for my silence. “Yet one man I have not trusted is Laurent Beaufort. I have never in my life trusted a Beaufort. I was under the assurance he was incarcerated in the Tower, now he has been released. I wonder what you know of that?” 

He looked verily like a man asked to sign his own death warrant. A man who was saved as the sound of running feet interrupted us. It was not a second later that my son, have slipped his half-brother’s attention, came bounding up the corridor toward us. “Papa!” He screeched, in blatant disregard for all formal etiquette, finally jumping into my arms. 

My son for all his love did not notice as my arms dipped, nor did he noticed as I stumbled. Francis however, quite suddenly forgetting his nerves, took Richard from my arms. The child did not care as he looked at me, a smile covering most of his face. “Papa, Will said that I could find you here.” He was not discouraged by my snicker. “I do not see why Lord Hastings is not in your favour!” He earned a strict look, though I did not follow through. “He told Uncle George that he could not speak to.” My son looked at the man who held him. 

“Sir Francis.” I prompted. 

“Sir Frankie like that. He knew it would displease you.” I did not say another word to Francis as I lifted my son from his arms, placing the child on the floor. From there I made my way back to my apartments, in the hope I would find Will there. After all, whatever had happened, Beaufort was free. Did it much matter who was behind his release?


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Hastings POV

I had been close to sleep, in my own official rooms, away from Edward’s presence, attention and undoubtedly his mind. I did not wish my monarch’s anger, nor his distress. Yet it did not settle well within me that he may be so easily able to shift me from his mind. That he could simply prevent himself from caring when he had no further use for me. However, no matter how it hurt, I would not disturb him. Not now, not in the mid afternoon. It had taken much longer than I had expected to ready myself for this sleep. Yet with the windows blacked out, and candles extinguished, I had hoped for respite from the insanity this had become.

That was until I heard the door to my bedchamber fling open, heavy boots on the floor confirmed a man’s presence, and then the curtains were drawn and light flooded the room. “Sleeping midday my lord?” There was something different about Ned’s tone, though irritation seemed to ebb it’s way to the surface. I did not respond, not as he looked at me without a flicker of amusement. “I cannot sleep midday. I cannot sleep at all. Yet you, the great William Hastings should be allowed to sleep as he wishes?” He snorted in a none too attractive noise. 

“Edward I-“ He held up a hand to my objections. 

“You know, when I saw George hounding poor Francis Lovell, I was disappointed. Yet I cannot say I was surprised. Angered, of course, but surprised no. You see, not much that George could do would surprise me. Short of course of planning not my demise, no, but plotting my assassination, I cannot stomach that. The truth is that my brother is a fool, he is little more developed in his mind than a child. To him that was a jest, albeit a poorly planned one, but then that is George!” He began to pace. “I was disappointed not by George’s actions, but that it was allowed to happen in my court. Therefore I was right furious when I saw you. You who should know better than to allow such conduct, you who have so much to lose, you to whom I thought I had made my opinions clear. I thought you knew Will that you were on your final warning. Then however you let my brother ridicule Francis Lovell in front of my son!”

 

I sat, open mouthed, unknowing of what to say. He watched me, silent as my mouth opened and closed, testing itself. “Edward I… I don’t know what to say I-“

“Perhaps you could explain? How did Richard find his way into that courtyard?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did George happen across Lord Francis?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then answer this one. How is it that you keep finding yourself in such awkward situations?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” It was then, had I known him less, that I would have felt my stomach flip. Knowing him well however, my heart leaped. For in his eyes had returned the sparkle, the humour. “I know something William Hastings. I know that my son loves you almost as much as he loves me. I know this, that dear boy is loyal. He told me that you did intervene when I had gone, helped George understand the error of his actions.” I shrugged, he laughed. “Did you tell him that he is an arse, from me?” I shook my head as I burst into laughter. “A pity, for you should.”

 

“I thought you might like to tell him yourself.” 

“I rather think that would remove emphasis from actions outside.”

“To make him beg forgiveness on his knees?” I smiled, he shrugged. 

“It was all I could think to do.” 

“And it worked! I have never seen George of Clarence look so… at odds with his own pride.”

“And it must have hurt!” He hooted, chuckling. “George has more pride than even me!” 

I waited for his laughter to die down, risking the words that I would say. “He has always thought himself a more suitable candidate for a king than you.” I gauged his reaction, seeing not anger but sadness. 

“Do not Will, please.” In his tone their was an air of the defeated. I had expected silence, where instead he went on. “I have thought on what you said, and what Dickon has said. Jesus but if this is not all a bloody mess.” He sighed, and as his eyes met mine, they were large and shining with emotion. “Keep it from my door, but do as you need. If you truly think that George is behind this, then I will not stop you. Just Will, please do not act until you are sure. Until Dickon is sure and, do not alert George to your suspicions. I fear I would lose you if you did. I fear I would lose too many people.” With that he rose to his feet, returning to the window he looked out, closing the curtains as he retreated. “Get some sleep Will, for a I rather think we will all need it.” 

***

I had found myself unable to sleep. Ned's words had left me uneasy, and so I had abandoned my pursuit and instead, I was patrolling the halls while our King relaxed, in his apartments. 

"Please tell me before you puke again so I can step aside? Gloucester may not mind his lapdog doing so, but he would not know, this is not behaviour accepted at court."

I heard the voice of the obnoxious swine, Thomas Grey, before my eyes set upon him. That I had learned was ever the case, and the boy had a chronic lack of awareness for when he should keep his mouth shut. Yet not only was he a Woodville, he too was a Lancastrian. Whilst Ned's influence, and high birth, may have taught the boy much, we all feared his influence had come too late. Some habits were irreparable. I dwelled to long in the issue I fear, drawing up similarities between the incompetent Grey boys and Prince Richard, Princess Mary too. It was not a secret to me that Ned had found a new source of irritation in their inability to shut their mouths. Worse, he ha begun to notice their brash disregard for all formalities enough to fail to neglect their our self importance. So often this had come to displays of power between Thomas and I, and on one occasions, Ned had been the one I deliver a hiding to Mary, whilst Prince Richard watched in wide eyed horror. All because they were taking after Grey. All so unnecessary.I found myself surprised then at my thoughts, that I could sympathise with Warwick for the chaos he had predicted.   
It was, as I turned the corner I told myself, it was much too late for such thoughts. In hardly time enough for my eyes to meet the sight in front of me. The unpleasant sight in front of me.

Rather than a servant, as I had vaguely and without much interested suspected when hearing the brat`s voice, my stepson was accosting the unfortunate young Lord Lovell.

Neither of them saw or heard me as I approached, and I caught the last bit of Thomas`s taunt. “... the spectacle earlier”, he was saying, and though his back was turned to me I could almost sense his unpleasant grin. “But it does not seem so? Shall we get a repeat performance? But if we do, warn me so I can step aside. Gloucester may not mind his lapdog puking in public, but it is not accepted behaviour at court.”

I let out a low growl at that - already prepared to ask him if he remembered the last time he had drunk too much - which seemed to catch his attention, and he turned away from young Francis to me, forcing me to meet the gaze of my son in law. "Father, how good to see you." He muttered, in a tone lacking in honesty or sincerity. I did not acknowledge him. Instead my gaze turned to Lord Francis as he stood, obviously glad to be free of the ridicule of a man of unrightfully higher rank. The boy I could say looked petrified. As if today's ordeal had not been enough for him... My son in law continued. "You do not look well." His tone was of mock concern. "You look haggered, and old now my lord. Perhaps you should give thought to retiring. These recent days they are taking a strain and-"

"And what would you know of it Thomas Grey? I do not see your hands so willingly dipping into the shit to help." I snapped. "I doubt your step father would be much amused if he could see you now. For you are quite incapable of heeding a warning it seems. Foolish boy." 

"How dare you-"

"Oh I dare. You are the Queens son, not Ned's. He does not love you, he simply tolerates your presence because he has need to. To satisfy your mother." 

"And I hear that's the only way he can keep her satisfied." Grey's words fell like a tonne weight. Francis gorped, I could not feel my heart beat. 

"That is enough." I hissed. "Thomas, I will not tell him of your words. Else I doubt you would satisfy any woman, or even yourself, ever again. It is for the fondness I bear my step daughter that you are so fortunate. Now if I hear a peep from you, Ned will not only hear what you said of him, but that you were found hounding Francis Lovell, his brothers most trusted friend, and a man who had thus far demonstrated more loyalty to Ned than you have in your life." He was about to leave when I grabbed his arm. "Thomas, I do sincerely hope that his grace continues to find use for you. Else your footing here may just slip." He was gone before I uttered another word to Francis. "Ignore him. He is a swine. A worthless one at that." He nodded. "What did he talk to you about?"

"He seemed annoyed at my joining of the kings inner circle." He did not need to say his next words. Which said that he had not wanted to join any such circle, much less had he wished to gain Thomas Greys attention. I shrugged. 

"His hold on the king is so tentative... He is rapidly falling from favour." 

"I don't want favour." He burst out before his tongue could be stopped by his brain. "I did not want this." 

"And Edward knows that lad, he knows. Do not think your sacrifices will not have been noted. Now, get some rest before you say something you truly regret."

I said nothing more, leaving the young lord there as I progressed to the room that held Beaufort. 

Three guards were posted outside his makeshift cell. One of each I knew to be mine and Gloucesters men. The third, I assumed Ned's. Each Stepped aside silently to let me pass. "Beaufort." My hand crashed down on the end of his bed. "Wake up. I have a use for you finally."


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half is in my OCs POv

My hands shook. Lord Hastings had sent me on this, a mission that should I be caught... My thoughts dwindling off. I could not think of this, not now. My mind had to be fixed upon the task. 

I had entered Clarence's rooms ten minutes before, and had methodically set about exploring his belongings, riffling through papers. Reading each with speed. Nothing was out of the ordinary, nothing said anything of suspect nature. Nothing said that Clarence had any more reason to be a suspect than I did. But then I thought, I still was not only a suspect, but a logical one. This was a test, a test that if I failed would see me back in the tower. I could not help but think that despite being alone, Hastings had some way of watching, or at least knowing my every move. 

This belief only served to heighten my anxiety, and my hands were trembling so much I struggled to hold the parchment I searched through. It did not take long to learn this was fruitless. For if Clarence had so long been behind this, and thus far not been caught, he would not surely be foolish enough to keep the evidence of his crimes so foolishly in his rooms. But then, if this was so, where else would he hide them? With that thought the sudden confirmation of the futility of this search came to me. If, that was a big if, Clarence was guilty, and he had evidence at all of his crimes, he would have burnt it of course. That was the thought which sent me back toward his door. The shaking however had won, and my legs collapsed beneath me, resulting in me hitting the floor. 

Had such an incident not occurred, I would have so easily missed it. I scrambled toward the box, hidden beneath the bed.

It was then, as my hand reached out to touch the box that a foot slammed painfully on my wrist. "Oh Master Beaufort, you have found yourself in a rather difficult predicament." Clarence's voice barely registered in my ears for the pain that seared through me from my shattered wrist. 

*** 

Hastings POV. 

I had say quietly with Ned. It was a rare occasion we would sit in such comfortable silence, while he pawed over a book. The silence at least was comfortable for him, or so I thought as I sat at the edge of my seat. 

Ten minutes elapsed, and my leg had begun to tremor from the tension before he finally sighed, putting the book across his knee. "Tell me what bothers you, as you seem so unable to hide it." He muttered. 

"I have not heard so much as a mutter from Beaufort." 

"I do not see why this troubles you. I am delighted when I do not hear a word from a Beaufort." He tried to bring a smile to my face, visibly disheartened when he failed.

"You do not understand Ned. I have charged him with a task."

He chuckled. "Trust you to make use of the useless. I would have him dead and you would have him put to use. Is he acting as the target for our archers? I do not see why that would have you so troubled." 

"No Ned. I have sent him to George's chambers." He raised an eyebrow, about to speak, until I continued. "I thought him more able to move with speed than me. I thought him able to be furtive. Yet, nothing." I sighed. 

"Perhaps he has not yet finished?" 

"Perhaps not." I could not stop the feeling of unrest. "One thing has been troubling me though." I saw him put down the book he had picked up again. He did not need to say a word for me to continue. "Why did you stand your guards outside Beaufort's room? Both Gloucester and myself had men stationed there and-"

"Whoa, whoa, Will. Whatever are you talking about?"

"There were three guards outside his rooms. I posted one, as did Richard and-"

"The third was not my man." He said lightheartedly. "I would not waste the time nor effort on it. Perhaps Dickon posted two? Or young Francis? Maybe even George-" 

I did not hear the rest of his words. A cold dread filled me. Of course Clarence had men stationed outside Beaufort's room. Of course he wanted to know his every move. I barely noticed Ned's look of confusion as I jumped to my feet, aiming to flee from the apartments.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastings POV

Wherever George of Clarence was, chaos was bound to follow. On such a premise, it was not long before I found him, leaning over the body of Laurent Beaufort. It was a moment before he looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "Will." His voice was hoarse. "God Will, I did not want to." 

"Save it. I will have Richard fetched-"

"Jesus Will, you would have me arrested?" I laughed out of surprise as George sounded surprised, fearful. As though he thought he did not deserve it. "If only you had been here moments ago. You would have seen the man was insane. I had to kill him."

"Naturally brother." Ned made me jump, at that George smirked.

"Ned." He began. "Thank god you are quite well." He rushed toward Edward, stopping only as our king raised a hand for him to halt. Ned's eyes were fixed on the dead mans body. Then to Richard who stood, grey faced, looking at the scene before him. "Richard, you have not missed my explanation."Gloucester said nothing. "Ned he told me he would kill you, and lord I thought he may have tried. He was going to kill me. Was planting evidence in my rooms. I would.. Oh Ned. I had to kill him. I had to defend myself, defend you." 

"So you stabbed him?" I muttered. "How convenient."

"I had to stop it happening!" George retorted. 

"No you had to stop him prying." I snapped. 

"You'd know all about that." George growled, low. 

"It's just convenient that dead men cannot talk." I muttered.

"That's enough Will." Edward barked. "I am growing tired of your insolence." 

I barely heard another word. Barely heard Edward dismiss George, ordering a passing servant to move Beaufort's body before he called for Richard to follow, and then followed me as I stormed toward my own chambers.

***

I had not expected Edward's anger, not directed so clearly toward myself and Gloucester. We had obeyed as he bid we follow him. The doors were hardly closed behind us, and servants still scurried around in the outer room as we stood silently, awaiting whatever Edward had to say. "Why are you so want to accuse George?" He looked at me, his eyes blazing. "And you." He looked to Richard. "I would have thought thatyou would have agreed with me on this matter."

Gloucester said nothing, looking around the room as though he were not listening. I knew then it was to me to make our defence. "What more evidence do you need?"

"Evidence that he did it. Not evidence which at best, is dubious."

"He killedBeaufort."

"Did you not listen to him?!" Ned made us both jump. Gloucester's eyes fixed on Edward, though he still said nothing. "He told you his reasons. Beaufort tried to attack him and he would have killed me, if George had not stopped him."

"Ned, Jesus, you cannot be serious?" I muttered. 

"What do you want me to say?" He sounded desperate. 

"I want you to consider this.Rationally."

"Ned." Gloucester spoke. "I do not want to think that George did this deliberately, any more than you do. For if he did this deliberately, I do not think we could deny that if this was deliberate, if he has lied to us, then George was behind all that has happened."

"And you yourself told me we were right to suspect George not three hours ago!" I barked. 

"Silence." Gloucester snapped at me. "But Ned, I do not think we can continue to neglect the possibility simply because it does hurt to much to acknowledge the merest idea of it." Edward snorted. "No, do not Ned. Please."

"I acknowledge the possibility." He sighed. "What would appease you Will? What would satisfy you that he did not do this with a personal vendetta, and in fact was trying to help? Why must you demonise him?" 

"George has only himself to blame." I muttered. "What would please me is if you would see sense."

"Sense?" He sighed. "Fine. You are right, George has only himself to blame for your suspicion. It is my responsibility to see this suspicion cleared." I shrugged. "Send for Hobbes." He barked. "I will have Beaufort's body examined, and we will find what happened. Does that please you?"

"Hobbes is a man of the living, unless he was there, he will not know." I retorted.

"Hobbes is an educated man." Gloucester interrupted "George did say that he stabbed Beaufort to stop him killing you, did he not Edward?" Edward nodded. "Then, if the examination confirms this, we shall assume George's tale correct."

"And if it does not? Will you believe in his guilt?" Edward did not respond to me. Instead he slammed the door as he left the room.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edwards POV

Hobbes had been delayed, damn him. When I had assigned him the privilege of the senior doctor of St Mary's Royal Hospital, I had not anticipated it - that was where I had gathered the doctor to be, from his brief reply, might one day take priority over even my own need. I cannot say my irritation, displayed so openly, could be justified. As a servant had so daringly voiced, Hobbes could not be expected to drop the needs of the living for the needs of the dead, or indeed for a royal whim. It was due to such an unforeseen occurrence that, against Wills wishes, I spent my night not only awake, but with candles burning and my head buried in papers. So much was I engrossed that I did so wrongly neglect Jane's presence. I hardly noticed as, belatedly, Hobbes arrived. That was why I almost fell from my chair when he spoke.

"Your Grace, if it pleases you, forgive me?" I looked at him through narrow eyes. "If I beg your forgiveness, let it be for this also, you do not look well. How do you feel?" He put down his bag, hurrying to me he began to examine the damage done not three nights ago. 

"Stop." I groaned, and as he looked at me his eyes were full of worry. "It is not for me I called you here." His eyebrow rose. 

"Is Lord Hastings unwell?" His voice was low, concerned. 

"No." I snapped, quite without reason except my own impatience. "Will is well, except and ill temper." He did not laugh, my smile vanished. "It is about an in issue on which I need your expert medical opinion." Before he could talk I continued. "How are your patients? The hospital is running well?"

"Very well your grace. So well I hardly have cause to be there." 

"I assumed you had been delayed from your visit to me for your patients?" My voice was tart. Though it softened as I spoke again. "Did I call you away from your wife?" 

His laugh was awkward. "No, no you did not. I was with Lord Francis Lovell." 

Though concern filled me, irritation over flowed. 

"You prioritised Lovell over me?" My eyes must have sparked, for he jumped back. 

He was quick to defend himself however. "Lord Lovell is quite unwell your grace, and as the word came from you, and you were recovering so well. I did not see harm in it. There are other doctors I could send for, if you did require a sleeping draught. Yet your message was so vague and... You must understand your grace, I cannot abandon all for you." 

"Thankfully Hobbes, my call is not for me, it is for my brother George." 

"The Duke is sick?"

"He is at risk of becoming an inmate at your own bedlam if he does not watch his step, yet where is the change there?" Again he did not laugh. "No, follow me." I rose, guiding Hobbes through the deserted, dark halls of the palace at night. Finding my way with ease to the chamber they had placed Beaufort in. Hobbes face drained. "This man is the base born bastard of the Duke of Somerset." Hobbes nodded. "George it seems did kill him, in self defence he claimed." He nodded again.

"You want me to determine the truth of that?" 

"Yes. That was why I called you here." 

"Very well." He acted as though he expected I would leave. Surprise registered on his ageing face as instead I sat. "I will stay. That way if you are to be called away again, I will know what you have found without need to wait." 

Hobbes did not say a word, though my presence made him uncomfortable. He began to search every inch of Beaufort's corpse.

"Did his grace the duke of Clarence say this man had attacked him?" 

"Yes. He would have attacked me." 

"Did you find a weapon with him?" 

"No." I leaned forward. 

Hobbes shook his head, lifting Beaufort's arm. I saw the discolouration, heard a feint rattle. "So did George of Clarence say whether he broke his wrist before, or after he had defended himself?" 

"He did not say." 

"He would not be able to hold a weapon with that hand. I doubt he would have had much ability to act. Let alone think himself capable of murdering you." 

"Perhaps George took the weapon from him? When he broke his wrist?" 

Hobbes gave me nothing. He looked at the wrist again, wincing as he turned it over. Suddenly I tasted bile. The underside of his wrist was black, bone broke through the skin. Hobbes didn't say anything as he continued. Finally rolling Beaufort onto his front. His eyes did not look for long before he stepped away. "He was killed deliberately, this was no accident." He beckoned me over. "He was stabbed in the back. You see? His back was toward his attacker. He was I'd say trying to get away." 

"The knife was not in Beaufort's back." I muttered.

"That does not stop the fact that it is so." He rolled the body back over, continuing. "That it seems was not enough, for the second stab is in the gut." He pointed to it. "His wrist was broken first I'd say." 

I jumped then as Will's voice filled our ears. "Then I am convinced. If you are not, then ask yourself this Ned. Why would Clarence go to so much to kill a man who wished to kill you, and then do it so quickly? If he had taken anything from you, he would-"

"He would do it quickly." I snapped, Will held up his hands. Though a smug smile sat on his face as Hobbes spoke once again. 

"Oh this was not quick. This would have been torture." 

I did not look at either man as I got to my feet, leaving the room. 

We were stood in the corridor for ten minutes before I spoke a word. "Will." I sighed. "Have my brother George dragged from his bed, and from there have him taken to the tower. You yourself will then search his rooms." I said nothing more, sinking to the floor where, after little more than half an hour, would be my resting place for that night. 

I would awake at dawn the next morning. Guarded by Richard, with his cloak placed over me.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in Richards POV by michisaccount. Thank you :)

My brother had been arrested. My brother had been arrested. My brother George had been arrested, was accused of having tried to kill my brother Edward.

And no one had bothered to tell me.

These thoughts were running through my head as I made my way towards the king`s chamber, silently fuming. Edward had decided to have George arrested, our brother, and had not thought of sending a messenger to give me the news? To explain the situation to me?

He had arrested his own brother without thinking of his family, relying instead on Hastings, who hated George? Leaving me out of it entirely?

Had he perhaps only thought to inform me only when George had been tried and executed? Or would he want to spare himself this embarrassment and thought to have me wake up one morning to the news that our brother had died in the night?

I did not know, but I did intend to ask him. Ask him why, if he found George suspicious, he had thought to leave the persecution to those who hated him most? Left to Hastings, and Edward with the Woodville trull`s whisperings in his ears, George was as good as dead. And perhaps Edward wanted it so.

Perhaps that was why he had not sent a message to me to inform me, leaving me instead to find out from Hobbes. A frightened, elderly man, not used to being in any way involved in the intrigue of court. He had been clearly uncomfortable when I had demanded to know why Edward had sent for him, if he was alright. Excepting as an answer nothing more but an assurance that Edward would be fine.

Instead, not looking at me but at Francis`s still form, he had hastily given an account of what had happened. My brother`s unexplained fury he had been so late. Hobbes`s own fear - though disguised as simply the expectation of a sensible punishment for a wrongdoing - that he would strike him when he had explained that Francis had needed his attention before he could follow my brother`s unexcited summons. The task he had been made to do. The fact that in his opinion, Beaufort had not been killed in self-defence.

I tried not to dwell on that. Beaufort`s death nagged at me, though even now I was not quite certain if he had been entirely innocent or entirely ignorant of the guilty party. But he had been a young man, and had been married as well. It was not right this business should have taken his life in such a way. Much less in the way Hobbes had detailed.

The way that seemed to convince Edward that our brother was responsible for all of this. Not that his behaviour was not very strange. Not that I had not suspected him as well. Not that I did not think it could have been him.

But that did not mean Edward had been right in imprisoning him without telling me. That he should be allowed to let those search for evidence of his guilt who were convinced of it in any case. Who might even fabricate something, in their despair to see George lose his head.

The more I thought on this, the more angry I grew, and by the time I arrived in the royal quarters, I was ready to scream at Edward, completely regardless of the fact he was my sworn sovereign and I owed him fealty. He was my brother, too, and George`s, and apparently, he had forgotten that.

He would recall it, I would make sure of that. And if I had to throw one of his whores out of his bed in person to do it. He would listen to me.

In fact, I was fuming so much I am not sure what I would have done had he come towards me at that moment, and perhaps it was better as it was. Perhaps it was better that when I entered the king`s private chambers, my brother was not there, and I had to go look for him. Perhaps it was better that these moments of worry stood between me and the consequences of my anger.

Curiously enough, despite what had happened only three days earlier, I was not at all worried that my brother might have fallen victim to another attack. I simply worried that he might have decided to get drunk or whore, and had found he should have heeded Hobbes`s warnings after all.

When I finally found him, it seemed that I was right. In an underlit corridor of the royal quarter of Westminster, though thankfully still safely out of hearing distance of the royal nursery, I found my brother stretched out on the floor, snoring.

My first thought was one of relief he was somewhere where anyone discovering him would be one of his men, not anyone who had no interest in keeping this embarrassment quiet. The second was irritation. So this what my brother had done instead of sending me word of George`s arrest? Getting sloshed?

I was tempted to send for water to pour him in the face, but of course this was so far removed from anything I was allowed to do, anyone was allowed to do to the king, that I soon rejected the impulse. It would not do to alert many men to this, in any case. Servants talk. So instead, I removed the cloak I had quickly thrown over my shoulders when leaving my chambers, covering Edward with them.

I expected to smell a strong stench of alcohol when I bent over him, but was surprised to not smell anything of the sort at all. In fact, he smelled only of sweat and ointment, doubtlessly applied to the graze he had sustained a few days ago.

I quickly checked him over for other injuries - if he was not drunk, then why was he lying on the castle corridors? - but he had none, and in fact only groaned when I touched his shoulders. He seemed perfectly fine, apart from the fact that he was asleep on the cold hard floor a few corridors away from a comfortable bed and fire.

And that he had just had our brother arrested. When he woke up, I would be challenging him on that, on the fact he had apparently had no interest in informing me of this, either. And I would do it as soon as he woke up, give him no chance to think up an excuse, for I knew all too well my brother was good at excuses.

Someone would need to watch over him and make sure no one not meant to would discover this disgrace. Sighing, I leant against the wall, and started my vigil.

A very boring one, for as hours passed, no one, no lord, no lady, no servant, not even a rodent, came into my view. I just stood there, watching the sleeping, snoring form of my brother and cursing everything that had ever brought it to this. Wishing I was back in Yorkshire with my wife, where I belonged, not in this poisoned place, where brother plotted against brother and good men were either corrupted or killed. Or both.

This place, which my brother had called a respite against the attempts on his life in Yorkshire, but which had only let the wound fester, made it worse. It had cost Edward several injuries, it had driven Francis to illness and had cost Beaufort his life.

However, much to my irritation, Edward clearly had no such worries, for he slept for hours, soundly and with barely moving, snoring, and when he finally showed signs of coming too, I knew despite the lack of light in the corridor it had to be morning already.

My brother took his time in waking up, first opening his eyes, looking around himself, then slowly sitting up. All of it, despite the fact he had just found himself in a corridor, with such calm and lack of discomfort, I half-expected him to call for a servant and request being brought breakfast.

Only after what seemed far too long a time did it finally occur to him that something was amiss, and I watched his eyes wander from my cloak to me, and he raised his eyebrows.

He said nothing, though, simply looked as if I was the one who needed to explain myself, and suddenly, no longer able to restrain myself, I burst out: “Did you sleep well? Is there anything I can send for? A bowl of water? A cloth for your teeth? Our brother`s head?”

With some satisfaction, I saw Edward lose colour at that as he quickly got to his feet. “Richard -”, he started, but for once, I had no interest in letting him speak. I suspect it was nearly treasonous, the way I interrupted him, but at that moment, I did not care. “Hobbes did tell me of the examination of Beaufort`s body. He also told me you had George arrested, and gave Hastings orders to search his chambers. However, he did not tell me about how you then sent a message to me to inform me my brother is now a prisoner!”

My voice rose to a shout, but Edward did not react to that, did not shout back. Instead, he simply looked at me, before saying, in a very calm voice: “It was nighttime, and we all have had too little sleep recently. There seemed to be no reason to wake you up.”

For a moment, I could only stare at him, almost amazed at his calm-faced lies. “You failed to inform me out of concern for me?”, I asked, hearing my voice high and disbelieving, and Edward actually took a step closer. “Think, man! What use would it have been? We all need rest.”

The more he spoke, the more enraged did I again become, and I snarled: “Your concern is touching.” At that, his face twisted too. “And you had better pay attention what you say. I will not be accused of callousness by my own brother.”

“Or you would imprison me, too?”, I asked, now all thoughts of self-perservation forgot. “Would you prefer to be accused by Francis? Who you did not even ask for? He saved your life more than once, and you cannot think that perhaps his health is more important than Hobbes hurrying to you because you wished to see him, in your own words, at his “next convenience”?”

I finished, panting, staring up at my brother as he stepped very close, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I will have you mind your words. Or I could get the impression the slight ailments of your friend are more important to you than my safety. And I would not like that impression at all.”

I could barely believe his words, said nothing, and he stepped back, looking almost disgusted. “I should think he would hardly need a physician”, he muttered, at which I exploded again. “You would not think so, because you have not asked! But perhaps I should have just let him collapse, he`ll wake up again, won`t he? By God`s grace. And if not, well, at least my grace the king´s patience was not tested.”

I admit I saw Edward`s appalled face with a short feeling of triumph. But it did not last long. Taking advantage of his momentary silence, I pressed on, angrily: “Shall I prepare George`s obit, if you give him as much care as you gave investigating other matters?”

As soon as I said that, I knew I had gone too far, and I thought Edward would hit me. But he did not, instead taking me by my colar. “He will get a trial”, my brother growled. “Given he is a traitor, he will get a trial. And if he is found guilty, he will be executed and may indeed be in need of you preparing his obit.”

“I am glad to hear he is already definitely a traitor”, I snarled, shaking him off. “I suspect I must tell our lady mother, for I do not assume you told her yet?”

This time, Edward truly did slap me, but the pain was nothing against the horror of the realisation I had in fact been right. Edward had arrested our brother and had then fallen asleep without telling anyone.

I could only stare at him in horror. I did not know what George had done. But nor did I know what Edward had done.

I hardly even seemed to know him anymore.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Edwards POV

The box had been sat on my bed for several hours before I had found the stomach to look at it. Tears flowed freely down my face as I had looked at the documents. Tangible proof George had not only tried to kill me, but had predicted the death of not only me but my sons. That had been too much to bare. The thought that he had not much cared who he had need to kill to accomplish his goal was like a knife in my gut. The realisation that I had distrusted Will, loyal and trusted Will. That had itself almost killed me. Hobbes had been called for the pain in my chest. That had sparked Richards arrival, a meeting supervised by Will as he sat on my bed.

"Do not act as though he is dying." Dickon snapped.

Wills eyes had said all they needed to. That he did not think Richard much cared if I was, for he had known Richards confrontation in the palace halls. He did however hold his tongue. With an effort visibly difficult.

"Fussing over him, for what? The pain sentencing our brother to death has caused him? Calling Hobbes away from Francis, a man in need of a doctor, for a cause he will never be thanked for no less. All for a hot flush."

"I remind you that you are not a doctor Dickon." I snapped. "George will die for his treason and it kills me to say it! But your disapproval will not change that."

Dickon had stormed off after that. He would soon return to York, with Francis at his side. That would not stop the words I had revolving around my head in endless cycle. Yet even at George's trial, as no one spoke in his defence, I did not relent. The words however did not stop as my mother had stormed into my chambers. She simply acted as a harsh reminder that I had signed my brothers death warrant.

"You cannot." She simply said. "Do you hear me? I forbid this." She was not shouting, though she was as angry as ever I had seen her.

"You forbid it?" I muttered, my eyes were hard as I looked at her, of that I am sure. "You aim to forbid your king?"

"I will forbid my son."

"Madam, I may be your son, but primarily you will remember. I am your king. You may not, will not question that authority."

"What have we become?" She sounded defeated, for only a moment. "What have you become when you will murder your brother."

"It is not murder. He has, under the law, been sentenced to death. He has been found guilty of treason-"

"By a fraudulent court! By a sham of a trial! On what grounds did he commit treason?"

"On the grounds that he tried to kill me! Not once, not twice, but multiple times! And he did not relent! Jesus mother he did not even apologise! He would have continued and he would have succeeded!"

For a moment she looked taken aback before she shook her head. "He does not have to die. He is your brother, Edward. I beg you."

"He is your son you mean. Your favourite son. Lord knows you always favoured him."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous. You wish to know what is ridiculous madam? That you beg for the life of a traitor, over that of your king. That you expect I will make a sham of English law, for your own pleasure and peace of mind. You expect I will disregard the laws of centuries, to excuse George? George who has betrayed our house countless times. Need I remind you that it was chance he did find himself with us at Barnet-"

"It was poor judgment he did join Warwick to begin with. Edward, my sweet boy Edward. Where is that beautiful boy? So caught in doing what is right. George was such a troubled child, you know that. You saw it. Edward, sweetheart. You do not have to forgive him, but I pray you to let him live. For the love you bare me, let him live."

"Mother. I love you, but you ask too much. If you say that the love I do bare you is measured by this act, then you must be content with the knowledge that I do not love you enough to let him live. I cannot do that. I simply cannot."

She did not hear the crack in my voice. She did not hear anything but my words, and to her I am sure they were as cold as the winter of 1460.

"Very well." She said, stern. "Then know I cannot find it in my heart to forgive you. You must then be content with the knowledge that whilst you must be, will always be my king, you are not, were not and can never be my son."

She did not say another word as she left. Left me unsure what he had meant. Left me unknowing if indeed I held my mothers love. Left me alone, only then did I let the grief I would never again let myself show flow free.

 


	37. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Hastings POV

The last time I had been sent on such a task, Richard of Gloucester had been at my side, with Clarence not far behind. That had been as we had arranged the murder of mad Henry of Lancaster. At that too I had been expected to watch, ensure the task was done and then report back to Ned. Today, as then, Edward had for all his determination, not been able to stomach the thought of watching as his brother was executed. So today, with little support from a single man, I was alone in this. I was to be the last familiar face that Clarence would see before... 

My thoughts were stopped as George was brought, hands bound, into my sights. It did not take more than a second for his eyes to fix on me. "Where is Edward? Where is my brother?" I did not answer, could not answer. In truth, I was surprised by George's appearance. There was a madness behind his eyes. "Answer me you whoreson!"

I looked away for just a moment as his guards nudged him, wresting him to the floor. "No." I snapped. "Ned is indisposed." I replied, giving more than I knew I should. More than I knew Ned would forgive. I did not care. There was a desperation in George's eyes, one I could not easily ignore. 

"The coward." George spat, and it was only then I noticed that even on his way to death, George was drunk. They were about to drag him once again, but he pulled forward. "He is dead? Tell me he is dead." 

"I will not give you that satisfaction. Even if you are yourself to go to death. He is very much alive-"

"Then what makes him so ill he does not relish in the situation he has so longed for?" He did not need my words, for George did what he ever had and drew his own conclusions. "He is too weak to see his brother die?" He scoffed. "If only you had all listened to me. He is a bastard, no more worthy to be called king than he is my brother." George growled. 

I held up a hand, stopped the men using unreasonable force to pull George away. My voice was dangerously low as I spoke. "George, you fool, remember that is your mother you speak of too, and any scandal you do make in this moment of madness? She too shall suffer. Not only Edward." 

"It is not a secret! She herself has said it-"

"Edward is not here to hear your venom. I will not report it to him. So save your mother her dignity, as she does deserve it George."

"Dignity." He spat. "Save that baseborn bastard his dignity. He is no more a king than you are honourable."

My eyes widened. "Tread with care George." He laughed, a manic sound that was endless. "You do not know the damage you have caused do you?" His eyes sparked, his laughing turning to chuckles. "I will not give you the satisfaction. I will not give you the words you want to hear."

"You think I do not know." He smirked. "Edward has got what it is he ever did deserve. Richard is unforgiving of this. Ma mere, she has deserted Edward and she will not forgive my death. It must kill him in a way I never could." He laughed again, a cruel cold sound that turned my insides. "If only I could live to see it. The joy of watching him suffer. Of watching him slowly break and die." His look was one that made me want to put a knife in his gut. 

"What makes a man so bitter, to hate how you do?"

"You do not understand. What it is like to be ridiculed, tormented and humiliated. To be endlessly denied your own birth right. You do not know what it is like to never get your wants or needs or desires." He muttered. "You were common born, and he loves you more than me. He shows you more favour."

"That is what this is about?" 

"My father favoured him! He favoured him over me and Richard, over even Edmund!"

"You are insane. You do not remember him-"

"I remember Edward! I remember how he ruined everything! I remember how he never once looked at me with fondness! He tore my life apart." 

He did not look down as I stepped forward. He did not move as my first punch connected with his jaw. "Like you have done. Shall I show you what you have done? Put into terms you can understand?" He said nothing, no one moved as I grabbed his collar, dragging him to the barrel, forcing his face against it before I lifted him. "This is for killing Laurent Beaufort." I dipped his head under the wines surface, lifting after several seconds, barely struggling as he thrashed to be free. "This is for having me suspect my wife." I dipped his head again, repeating. "This is for Francis Lovell." And again. "This is for the pain you have caused Richard." Again. "And Edward." Again. "And your mother." Again. "This is for the trauma you caused a small girl." And again. The next time I ducked his head under, holding him down. I did not speak again until his body had stilled. Pulling him out only as I knew he was dead. "That, that is for the pain you caused everyone. The dishonour you caused your family. Your treason, your filth, your selfish greed." 

"That is enough." Ned's voice made me jump. The coldness of it the only expression of his pain. His eyes were hollow as he looked at George's motionless frame. "Oh George, what have you done now?" He whispered, emotion cracking every word. I did not need to think to dismiss the dead dukes former guards. They left without a word, and if they saw our monarchs lone tear, they said nothing of it. 

"Edward, I-"

"Will. God it is hard." He sounded as though he would choke. Inhaling sharply. His eyes never left Clarence. "I have doubted your loyalty these last months, but I think I did doubt everyone save who it actually was. Nothing George could do would surprise me I said, and yet I am surprised." He coughed, stepping away. "You were so passionate Will. I did not think you capable of it." A small and empty smile came to his face. "I will not tell Dickon. By the Virgin he would have you join George. This whole dratted mess, it has cost me much." It was then I noticed he was exhausted, only as he looked at me. "Estranged from my mother and hated by Dickon. By Dickon damnit, and i thought he would understand."This time the tears flowed free. 

"Wounds heal." 

He shook his head. "I have learnt one thing in my years Will. Sometimes it does not matter if you let it settle. Some wounds do never heal, they get worse if they are not stitched. I do not think I can stitch this. I do not think anyone can. For they would have had me let George live. After all he has done. After he tried to kill me. Jesus, they are blind to the truth of it. He would not have stopped until I was dead, and he went so far as to insult our mother."

"That rumour is not new-"

"But for it to come from George?!" His words broke. "I cannot do the right thing. George's crimes were treason. So many times I overlooked it in the hope he would change, and he did not. Yet they would have me neglect the law. They would have me make mockery of England's justice, and ignore my divine right. They would have me obey them." He sighed. "Like a child. They would have had me send George to a mad house, confined away from the world but very much alive. Alive and free to once again plot my death." He winced, a hand instinctively going to his back. I did not move to help him. I could not, I was frozen to the spot I stood upon. "What did George do to ever win their favour? Would they have me sacrifice all to please them?" He looked at George again. His eyes closed and he crossed himself. "He was my brother, I did love him. But from a difficult child, he became an unruly man. He became jealous, and bitter, and jaded. Mayhap if I had done things differently." I shook my head. "Perhaps you are right. Yet the law of England stands, to my brother or the common man. Not a man complained when I would have had Beaufort executed. Yet George?" He shook his head. "A bloody mess." He muttered, before turning to the door. "Have him prepared for burial Will." He did not say another word. I did not think myself able to breathe until the door slammed shut behind him.


End file.
